Of Kings and Queens
by galfoy
Summary: Hermione has a bad habit. Draco has a big problem. The universe has one heck of a plan.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hello beauties. I'm back, and as an apology for my long absence, I bring you a full-length story as a peacemaker. A few notes:_

_- Yes, I've worked addiction into the plot, as I did with Static. Here's the deal. I lost a friend to a drug overdose, and it's been weighing on my mind, hence those pesky substances sneaking into my stories. What can I say? People dying from drugs is incredibly tragic. This shit ain't a game._

_- I've got twelve chapters written, and I anticipate it running about 18- 20. I know vaguely how I want to end it, but I'm not fully settled on the details, nor have I decided on how smutty / not smutty it's going to be. It will be a surprise for all of us._

_- I'm usually nice to Ron, but this is not a usual story._

_- Yes, I will be doing daily posting in exchange for your reviews! If you've already followed along in real time with my other full-length stories, you might remember how it works, but here's the deal: I will write like a maniac and post a new chapter every day if I get loads of reviews. If reviews trickle in, I'll still update, but it will be every few days instead. That's the trade, so please comment! ONE SMALL CAVEAT... I'm considering taking weekends off for a wee breather. I may revisit that idea down the line, but I'm a lot busier than usual, so this will guarantee that I can keep up. I don't want the quality to suffer because I'm out of time to edit or sleep or anything silly like that._

_- Sorry, that first bullet was heavy. Let me try this again. I've missed you. How've you been? Here's a prologue and a first chapter to reacquaint us._

* * *

It must have started sometime after the Final Battle. Yes, of course. When everything began, or ended, depending on how you looked at it.

Did that make sense?

Hermione blinked. The floor was spinning. That wasn't normal, was it? Did that mean she was moving, or did that mean the floor was moving? And why would either of those things be happening?

Frustrated that she was losing her train of thought, she squinted her eyes and tried to focus her mind.

It must have started sometime after the Final Battle. Yes. After she buried all those people. After she had logged the names of the missing. _So many names_. Tonks. Moody. Ginny. Snape. Neville. She could vaguely remember the transition out of shock and into reality, that heavy cloud lifting only to show her the devastation of the storm.

Reality was suddenly much harsher than she remembered. Whether she liked it or not, she had changed. They all had. Nothing could go back to normal after the War. Something inside of her was missing, and in trying to fill the space, she lost control. It was starting to feel like it was never coming back.

Harry and Ron had lost control too. Harry had become a hermit, moving far away and keeping largely to himself. Ron had become a vortex of self-destruction, drinking too much, screwing around too much, full of toxic self-loathing that was poisoning him year after year. She knew more than she let on, and stayed with him through it all, but at the moment, Hermione couldn't for the life of her remember why. Because she was supposed to, maybe. Because that's what she was expected to do. Her destiny was mapped out for her: she would marry Ron, she would have his children, she would die the reliable War heroine, walking library and eternal do-gooder.

Always doing what was expected of her, on the outside at least. Reliable old Hermione.

On the inside, however, everything was falling apart. Her strength was faltering. Her faith was eroding. That space, that bloody space inside of her, the black hole of emptiness she couldn't seem to fill, was sucking her dry. She started to look for ways to cope.

It started off small, a bit here, a bit there, just to help dull the pain. Manage the panic. Deal with the grief. Move past the disappointment that came with adulthood. Find that missing piece. She was Hermione Granger, after all. Nothing fazed her.

Or at least, that was the projection. The beacon of strength. The member of the Golden Trio who had managed to hold it together. Someone with a bright future.

Hermione blinked in the dull light of her bathroom, sitting on the tile floor as the room spun.

Did she still have a bright future? Tough to say. Today was trying, even for someone like her. Someone who had it together. _Someone who had it together_. See that? She had almost believed her own lie. Can't keep it together when you're broken. Everyone knew that.

She smiled to herself, a dreamy look on her face. The tiles looked so funny when they moved. Like a kaleidoscope, or a mosaic, but on a turntable.

Did that make sense? _Sure it did_.

Stress seemed to set her off now. She was no longer able to just deal with it, the way she might have in school. Now, stress was a trigger for everything else. The more stress, the more she tried to cope. The more she coped, the less she was able to handle stress. Unfortunately, her method of coping was becoming a problem. A habit, even. And as her habit grew, so did the space inside of her. The missing piece. She would never find it at this rate. She'd probably die first.

Hermione realized in the fog of her jumbled thoughts that now would be a good time to call for help. Pity she couldn't move her tongue. It felt swollen or something, like it had been replaced with a pillow.

What a peculiar idea.

Well, help wasn't coming, but that was okay. She was Hermione Granger. She had it together. Nothing fazed her.

Except for that little problem she had developed. It must have started sometime after the final battle.

After she buried all those people.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_A little more meat for you. It's Sunday night where I'm at - review like crazy, and I'll post the next chapter at this time tomorrow. Ready, set... GO! xo_

* * *

There was a knock at the door.

Draco Malfoy looked up from his work and frowned. Blaise, his best friend and business partner, was on the other side... And Blaise only knocked when he had bad news.

_Fuck_. Draco put down his quill and bit his lip. They couldn't handle any more bad news. They were at the breaking point.

Their business, one that should be thriving by all accounts, was tanking faster than a broken Nimbus. They sold luxury broomsticks, some of the best and fastest in the world. This was a time of prosperity and investment - the War was over, jobs were plentiful, and success could be attained through a bit of luck and a lot of hard work.

But apparently that didn't apply to a Malfoy. Once rich and powerful, his family had become societal outcasts. Leered at by the masses, pushed out of public life, and spat on by the Ministry. It seemed everything they touched turned to dust.

He was amazed Blaise even stuck around at this point. Everyone else from the old social circle had either gone to jail or fled England altogether. The Manor was in ruins. Bearing the family name was tantamount to treason. He thought the War was hell, but now he was drowning in the fallout. The public hadn't forgotten over time. They'd simply gotten angrier.

He ran his hands through his hair and then clasped them on his lap so Blaise wouldn't see how jittery he had become. Draco played the part well in public, walking with a swagger he had perfected when he thought he was Merlin's second coming, but now it was all a façade. The fancy robes he wore had been mended several times over. His flat was furnished with a plain table, two chairs and a mattress. He was failing, and he knew it. He was nothing. He was nobody.

Perhaps most immediately, he was going broke.

His hands were still for two long seconds before he began shuffling his papers into a sloppy pile. It was just as well; he couldn't stand to look at the mess a moment longer. Merlin, the debt was suffocating. If he saw another bill he couldn't pay, he'd be tempted to burn the business to the ground. Unfortunately, his livelihood, Blaise's, and his parents' future was all tied up in this venture. If it failed, they would all go down with it. It looked like the world wasn't going to quit until the Malfoys were begging on the streets. Blaise was a different story - he had a new woman every other night and could probably live quite successfully in the beds of England's witches. Draco didn't have that option. His last name drove everyone away before he could even get past the introductions. The Zabinis had managed to stay neutral in the War. The Malfoys had stayed firmly on the wrong side right up until the end. They realized too late what everyone else had figured out.

Voldemort had fucked them all over and they had let it happen.

A brief fluttering at his window caused him to flinch. It was just a standard mail owl, but he'd grown to detest the sight of the birds. Once delightful and practical pets, they'd become nothing but harbingers of bad news. Bad press, bad debts, and rejection. By the time he looked over, the bird had gone.

Blaise knocked again.

"Come in," he called.

His friend walked in and nodded at Draco with a troubled smile. He plopped himself into the guest chair and fidgeted with the folder in his hands.

"Morning mate," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

"What's the damage?" Draco responded, heavily. "Don't sugarcoat it, please."

"We've lost our second last client," Blaise responded with a sigh. "Caved to pressure from lobbyists who say they shouldn't be selling products made by - "

"A Death Eater. Got it." Draco dropped his head into his hands. "How did they even know I was running the business? We were so careful this time..."

Blaise shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder if you've got someone tailing you. I can't believe how quickly the press finds out what you're doing."

"You know, nothing would surprise me anymore," Draco muttered. "Okay, so we have one last shop that is carrying our brooms. How much time does that buy us before the lobbyists get to them too?"

"Frommer's is owned by Harry Frommer, who I understand is an old acquaintance of your father's," Blaise said with a bit of hope. "I think he'll tell them to fuck right off, honestly. He knows our brooms are top of the line."

"And yet, we can't run a business like ours with only one client," said Draco, playing with the snow globe on his desk. It was a Hogwarts edition, bought for him by Pansy before she took off to Russia. Back when he could still get a date before referring to it as a "business merger."

"It's better than nothing," said Blaise. "Have faith. We'll find new clients."

Draco looked up at his friend with a bewildered expression. "I honestly don't understand how you haven't walked out on me yet," he said. "I'm ruining your life."

Blaise waved his hand with a cheeky grin. "That's shite. I know you're a good bloke, and I'm not going to cut and run just because the rest of the world is ignorant."

"Be realistic, Blaise," he said, shaking his head sadly. "My name alone could drive us into bankruptcy."

"_Could_ being the operative word," Blaise shrugged. "It's not a done deal, and to be perfectly honest, I think we both know how good our brooms are. I still believe in the product. The public will have to catch on eventually."

"Not with the constant assault the press is waging on me," Draco moaned. "It's been five years since the War, _five years_ Blaise, and I actually think The Prophet has gotten worse."

"Don't let it get to you," said Blaise. "Fucked if I know why they're so fixated on your life, but they'll have to get bored with it some day."

"But it's not just that!" Draco said, exasperated. "Look at our competition. They stole our designs! We were the only ones working on flexible broomsticks. I refuse to believe that Stacey McLorrow thought of using charmed willow branches all by herself. She's a sodding bitch, not a bloody genius. It took us months of testing to perfect it. Right when we were about to announce it, she beats us to the punch. It's _not_ a coincidence."

"Okay, I still don't know how she managed that, but our version is still better," Blaise said in a soothing voice. "Stacey is a spoiled girl with a trust fund. I think she went into the broom business just to piss you off. We make the best brooms, hands down."

Draco sighed heavily.

"It's true, mate," said Blaise. "You know it is."

A smirk crept across Draco's face. "I don't deserve you."

Blaise snorted with laughter. "Perhaps not. But it looks like we're not the only one's who have fallen on hard times," he said, throwing that morning's issue of The Prophet in front of Draco. "Now personally, I find the story really bloody sad, but you might get a kick out of it."

Draco looked at the cover with a frown. It featured a huge picture of Hermione Granger walking into a room to find Ron Weasley snogging some unknown blonde with nauseating enthusiasm. Hermione's hands went to her mouth, her ring glinting in the light, and he could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes right before the image repeated. WAR HEROES SPLIT AFTER DISCOVERY OF TORRID AFFAIR, screamed the title.

He scanned the article. "The headline says 'torrid affair' as though there was only one, but it looks like Weasley was fucking everything that moved."

"I know. Hard to say if Granger knew how bad it was. Engagement's off, as you can imagine. She's gone missing."

"Missing?" Draco said, looking up at his friend with distaste. "Christ, I'd be missing too if my fiance made a fool of me on the national stage. Right after I gutted him."

"Whoah whoah, are you actually feeling bad for Granger?" Blaise said, with a surprised chuckle. "I agree, of course. I barely know the girl, but there's no way she deserves to be crapped on by Weasley. Still, I thought you'd get at least a moment of smug satisfaction out of the article."

"What, because Miss Perfect finally has to deal with some bad press?" Draco said, still reading the article. "Yeah, I suppose." He flipped the page to where the story continued, but his eyes rested on a second picture of Hermione. Holding it up so Blaise could see, he pointed to her face. She was pushing her way through a crowd of reporters, trying to get past. A building loomed in the distance. She looked panicked.

"This must have been taken right before she ran off," he said. "That's my apartment building."

"I forgot you both lived in the same complex," Blaise said. "Bad luck for you. The press might as well just move in."

Draco didn't respond. He was oddly mesmerized by the second photo of Hermione. She looked completely destroyed, like she was barely holding it together. Practically unrecognisable without her usual energy.

"She looks miserable," he murmured.

Blaise frowned, leaned over and snatched the paper out of Draco's hands. "Enough of that. I was trying to cheer you up, not send you into some depressing spiral. As puzzled as I am by your sudden empathy, forget Granger for a moment and think about how miserable Weasley must be right now."

"That does cheer me up a bit," Draco said with a wry smile. "I still don't understand why you're friends with that tosser."

"Friends is a generous term," Blaise shrugged. "We play recreational Quidditch for fun. We grab the occasional Firewhiskey. He likes to talk brooms. He's just bored with Potter living off in France somewhere. It's nothing like the love you and I share, Draco."

Draco tossed the snow globe at Blaise's head and Blaise ducked, cackling.

"Well, thanks to your newspaper article, my opinion of the git is even lower, as if that were even possible," Draco said, noting with relief that the globe was still in one piece, rolling around in the corner of the room. "Now get your arse out of here. I've got to figure out if I've got anything left to sell so I can pay my fucking rent."

"You and me both, mate," Blaise sighed, standing up and walking towards the door. "How are the folks, by the way?"

"Worried they're going to be sleeping on the street," he answered. "Don't know how my mother's feeding that pet of hers."

"Queenie? I sort of thought she liked to eat the limbs of your enemies."

"Suppose we've got no shortage of those," Draco said with a wry smile.

Blaise gave him a sympathetic look and nodded before leaving the room.

Draco groaned and rested his head on the desk. "Not a word of a lie," he mumbled into the cool wooden surface.

* * *

Loud voices woke Draco up with a start, and he realized quickly that he must have fallen asleep at his desk.

"What the bloody hell..." he said, standing agitatedly and stalking over to the door. He opened it abruptly, eyes narrowing at what he saw.

"Get the fuck out of my office Weasley," he said to the red-headed man who had clearly worked himself into a state, pacing like a caged animal in front of Blaise's desk. Blaise was calmly reclined, listening to Ron's rant.

"Screw you Malfoy," Ron spat, his face screwed up with anger. "I'm here to see Blaise, not you."

"And yet here you are in my space, disturbing my work and annoying my dear business partner," Draco said coolly.

"Weasley here was just telling me about his current predicament," Blaise said with a wink so small Draco almost missed it.

"Which predicament is that? The one where you couldn't keep your dick in your pants and lost your girlfriend of five years?" Draco sneered.

"At least I can get a fucking lay, Malfoy," said Ron, drawing himself up to his full height. "And you don't know a bloody thing about my situation."

"I know what I've read," said Draco, ignoring the low blow about his love life. "Are you telling me you _didn't_ sleep with six other women in the past three months while being engaged to Granger?"

"I don't owe you any explanations," Ron hissed, getting progressively redder.

"That's as good as an admission," Draco smirked. "You should really practice your comebacks if you want anyone to sympathise with you, Weasel."

"I'm not looking for sympathy you pathetic loser," Ron barked. "I'm worried about Hermione!"

"Oh, _now_ you're worried about her? That's rich!" Draco replied, feeling himself getting worked up. He could care less about Granger, but this imbecile pretending to be concerned was beyond irritating.

"Come come Draco, Ron was about to explain before you barged in," Blaise said, trying hard to cover up his amusement. "Go on, Weasley."

Ron was panting now, his eyes red and watery, his hands twitching.

"Just breathe. Draco won't interrupt you again. Tell me why you came by," said Blaise in a soothing voice.

"She's missing," Ron said quietly with a shaky voice.

"So I read," said Blaise with a raised eyebrow.

"No, I mean, I don't think she ran away. I think she's in trouble."

"I don't understand," Blaise said, more serious now.

"Even in a full panic, even when everything falls apart, 'Mione checks in with someone," he said, wiping his eyes roughly with his arm. "Since the War, she always makes sure someone knows where she is. Harry, me, my mum... Anyone. But I went to her flat just now and all I found was a small pool of blood in her bathroom. Nothing else. Nobody's heard from her. She's been gone since last night without a word."

Draco and Blaise both frowned. There was no denying that the situation sounded a little less amusing now. Granger didn't seem like the type to run off without alerting any of her close friends. And a pool of blood? Disconcerting, to say the least.

"Is there anything we can do to help?" said Blaise.

"Don't get me wrapped up in this," said Draco, backing away with his hands raised. "You made your bed, Weasley. Call the authorities and get them to start searching, but frankly, even Granger deserves better than you. You'd better fucking hope she's alive."

Without warning, Ron launched himself at Draco with a growl. He was knocked sideways by Blaise before he even made contact.

"Weasley!" Blaise snapped as Ron hit the ground. "Don't waste time trying to fight Draco if Granger's hurt somewhere. I don't even know why you came here before going to the Ministry. This is serious. We need to go - I'll take you there myself."

He pulled Ron up with a huff and started to push him out the door. Ron stumbled, openly sobbing now. "Harry's going to kill me," he cried. "He's never going to forgive me!"

"We'll talk about it on the way," said Blaise, tersely, pulling Ron along by his coat. "Evening Draco."

"Good riddance," Draco spat, still unnerved by Ron's attempted attack. He turned abruptly on his heel and accidentally knocked over a plastic monkey toy sitting on the edge of Blaise's desk. He picked it up with a snarl. The hideous thing had been a joke gift from Weasley to Blaise years ago - it had eyes that spun around and it was holding a multi-coloured lolly in its hand. "You're a sucker!" came the sing-song robotic voice "You're a sucker!"

"Fuck you!" Draco screamed at the toy, chucking it at Blaise's office chair and storming back to his desk. Stupid trinket. He was tired of being told what he already knew.

Not wanting to spend another minute in an office that was about to be declared bankrupt, he grabbed his briefcase and apparated home.

* * *

After a cup of tea and a quick dinner of leftovers, Draco felt considerably calmer, and decided to take a walk down by the river near his flat. It was a chilly evening, with the ground slick with a recent rain. The sun was just barely lighting the overcast sky, not quite black enough to be night, but not quite bright enough to be day. He wrapped his scarf around his neck and pulled his jacket tightly shut. This was the sort of chill that could seep into your bones. His breath hung in the air.

Once well along the trail, he glanced back over his shoulder at his building. It was an ugly old clunker of a structure, and the flats were modest at best. It's what he could afford. Perhaps not even, at this point.

Apparently it was also good enough for Granger.

_Granger_. The memory of her face in the newspaper article floated back into his mind. Something was bothering him. And the fact that he was bothered by anything Granger-related bothered him even more. They had probably said all of five words to one another since the War, most of which when they bumped into each other near the lift when Draco first moved in.

"You live here?" he had said.

"I do," she had responded.

After that, it was all passing glances and the occasional nod. She had even smiled at him once, humming to herself as she popped a well-worn book in her purse and wandered out of the building.

He had gotten used to seeing her around. They weren't outwardly friendly with each other, but they weren't openly hostile either. It was a funny truce, and one he didn't think of much until just now. Until she went missing. Until her life as she knew it exploded.

It was a feeling he understood.

He also really didn't want to explain it to Blaise. What would he say... That contrary to popular belief, he'd become comfortably indifferent to her? That when he caught her eye, he didn't immediately have the urge to sneer? That he sometimes appreciated having a familiar face around when everyone else shunned him? No. That sounded stupid.

And yet, her disappearance still grated on him. So she had a perfect life. That didn't mean that she deserved to be publicly flayed like that. Nobody did. _Weasley_. What a waste of skin.

Deviating from the path, Draco began to walk through the brush towards the river bank. Sitting and watching the water rush along was one of his favourite pastimes, and Merlin knew he could use a bit of reflection after his mind-fuck of a day. Impending bankruptcy weighed heavily on him. He didn't want to lose the business, he _loved_ the business, but he was being forced out by faceless lobbyists and rabid reporters who couldn't let him move on with his life. Yes, he had been a Death Eater. No, he didn't want it to define him forever. Apparently he wasn't being given a choice.

Draco wandered by a bush and saw something pale out of the corner of his eye, but continued walking, assuming it was an old pop bottle or a plastic bag. A few seconds later, he stopped.

Now that he thought about it, the pale thing on the ground had looked vaguely human. Like a hand.

With a lurch in his stomach, he turned back and broke into a jog. There it was. A hand, attached to an arm, attached to a body... With a mess of curly brown hair he recognized all too well. She was lying face down in the leaves. Panicked, he threw himself onto the ground and turned the body over.

There was Granger, eyes closed, cold as the river, and dark blood leaking out of her mouth.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hey, lots of reviews! Amazing. You know what that means... A new chapter! BTW, if you noticed something funky with the text yesterday and messaged me to let me know, THANK YOU. Kinks of that nature are not the kind of kinks I like in my stories. All fixed. __xo_

* * *

"No no no..." was all he could think to whisper as he crouched beside her, one hand on her freezing cold cheek. She looked dead, she was so pale. Fuck, what if she was dead? His hands began to shake at the thought. He'd seen enough death in his short life. He didn't want any more.

The spell came to him suddenly, and he swore. _Goddamnit_, he had never wanted to use those wretched words again. His mother had taught it to him at the Manor when he was sent to check on torture victims. One incantation to tell if they were still alive or not. He knew the words. He had performed that spell more times than he ever cared to count. It was burned into his brain, as were the faces of all those people he had buried, mangled and bloody, some missing eyes, teeth, tongues, limbs. Every time he said the words, he prayed they were dead. Surviving that sort of violence only meant they would have to endure it a second time.

It would take two seconds to perform the spell on her. Two seconds to know the truth.

But the answer was scaring him out of his wits.

What if she was dead? He would be blamed. The press had been waiting years for this - the evil Malfoy heir murdering childhood nemesis and Muggle-born War hero Hermione Granger. Who needed the truth when there was a story to sell? They'd forget Weasley even existed.

But what if she was alive? What if he could save her? According to the public, Draco Malfoy didn't save people. He was forever the devil incarnate, the bad seed. He didn't do good things.

Maybe they were right about him. After all, Malfoys had a long record of helping only themselves and saving only their own. Hermione wasn't family. She wasn't even a friend. He could walk away and let his conscience manage the outcome, couldn't he?

He looked down at her pale face, his stomach turning at the slow trickle of blood dripping down her jawline. Public perception or not, walking away from her seemed insane, especially when there was a chance she might have survived whatever happened to her. He needed to decide. He needed to decide now.

With a furtive glance around the darkening woods, he made his choice. If she was dead, he would leave her there and send an anonymous tip to the Ministry. His life was already in ruins. Being caught with her body would lend him in Azkaban faster than you could say Dumbledore.

If she was alive... Well... He would do what he could.

"Verificare vitae," he whispered, pointing his wand at her chest.

It glowed blue.

She was alive.

He let out a shaky breath, reeling with relief. Leaning forward and gathering her up in his arms, he whispered a quick "Hold tight, Granger," into her ear before he apparated away.

* * *

Draco jolted awake in the uncomfortable hospital chair, momentarily panicked that he had fallen asleep. His eyes swept the room. No media. No Aurors. Nothing but a sleeping Hermione in a quiet room, some colour on her cheeks and her mouth cleaned of blood.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had bribed the Healer on duty to keep everything quiet. The irony wasn't lost on him. Once upon a time he wouldn't have blinked at handing over a bribe. This time he had handed over his grocery money.

For fucking _Granger_.

He must be losing his mind.

The clock on the wall said it was 3 a.m. He had been sitting here for hours. To his frustration, although the Healers managed to save Hermione, they wouldn't explain her condition to him.

"I found her," he had argued while they wheeled her away. "I fucking brought her here!"

"You're not family," snapped the Healer unapologetically, giving him a look of pure disdain. He knew the expression all too well - it was the same look of hatred everyone gave him. After all, he was a Malfoy. "Now who should we call?"

Fuming, he told them to call the only person he could think of. All he could do now was wait.

Hermione mumbled something in her sleep, and Draco glanced over. The leaves and dirt were gone from her hair, leaving the same mess of curls that were uniquely hers. The blood that had dripped down her jaw and onto her neck was cleaned up, much to his relief. Some scratches on her chin, some bruising on her cheeks, but otherwise she looked a million times better than the near-corpse he had found in the forest. His eyes trailed over her body again, resting on the exposed skin of her forearm. Something red caught his attention. Cautiously, he reached over and moved her arm to get a better look.

He pulled his hand away like he had been burned. _Mudblood_. The word had never healed. Bella's handiwork was still scratched into her skin as though it had been done yesterday. The very thought made him feel ill. He had been trying to forget about that sickening day since the moment it happened. He had failed, just like he failed at everything else. Now he was staring his reminder in the face.

Malfoys didn't do good things. Merlin, why was he even here?

The hospital door slammed open, causing Draco to jump out of his chair with his wand drawn.

A panting Harry Potter stared back at him.

Draco lowered the wand awkwardly. "I... I didn't know who else to call," he said, still trying to push the sight of Hermione's damaged arm out of his mind. "I'm sorry."

Harry didn't respond, letting his eyes rest on Hermione's small frame.

"Is she okay?" he said, his voice heavy with fear.

"She'll live, but they won't tell me anything else," Draco responded.

Harry walked over slowly, as though in a trance. He leaned in and touched Hermione's cheek, resting his hand on top of hers and examining her face for injuries.

"You found her?" he said, hoarsely.

"Yeah. Went for a walk along my usual route and saw her in the woods," Draco said, watching Harry with interest. He had been waiting for some sort of accusation from Boy Wonder. Perhaps it was still coming.

"It's Ron's fault, isn't it," Harry said, something dark slipping into his tone.

That was not the accusation he had expected. Draco nodded, unwilling to open up that particular can of worms in front of present company. Talking about Weasley would make him yell, and yelling here would probably land him in jail.

"That fucking tosspot," Harry seethed. "Screwing around behind her back. I'm going to murder him myself."

"I can't tell if you're joking Potter, but I rather hope you aren't," Draco said, dryly.

Harry looked up, his expression unreadable.

"Malfoy," he said, standing up straight, his voice much stronger. He walked over to Draco, and Draco tensed out of habit.

Harry held out his hand.

"I honestly can't thank you enough," he said. "I owe you a huge debt."

Draco stared at the outstretched hand before taking it cautiously.

"Don't mention it," he replied. He was tempted to clarify that this was _not_ the sort of thing Malfoys usually did, and that it wouldn't happen again, but he kept quiet.

"And thank you for calling me and not Ron. She doesn't need more of his shite right now."

"I would never willingly call that bastard," Draco said, unwilling to disguise the venom in his voice. This whole interaction was puzzling him. When he told the Healer to call Harry, he had been prepared for a confrontation and a duel, not a genuine 'thank you.' All he remembered was that Harry had moved to France after the Final Battle, likely to try and distance himself from all the misery that followed. He'd lost his girlfriend in the fighting too, hadn't he? The Weasley girl? Couldn't really blame the bloke for wanting to disappear. "Besides, I didn't really know how to reach her parents."

"They're missing," said Harry. "Have been since the War."

"I didn't realize," said Draco.

"Not a lot of people know," Harry shrugged.

Just then, the same Healer walked in who had brushed Draco off earlier. He glared at her.

"Ah, Mister Potter," she beamed at Harry. "I was wondering when - "

"I'm family," he said, cutting her off brusquely.

"Pardon?" she said.

"I'm family. I'm listed on her file as family. You can check, but I want to know what's going on."

The Healer frowned and flipped through the files she was holding. A look of surprise took over her face.

"Apparently you are," she said, looking warily at Draco. "Perhaps Mister Malfoy could - "

"He can stay," Harry said, cutting her off again. "I suspect she'd be dead if it wasn't for him, am I right?"

The Healer looked guiltily at the two men. "Well, yes. It was quite lucky she was found when she was. Any longer in her condition and she wouldn't have made it."

Draco noticed Harry setting his jaw angrily. "Then I see no reason for him to leave. Now can you please explain what's wrong with her? I'm guessing she didn't end up half dead in the woods by accident."

The Healer looked between the two men, apparently trying to decide if she wanted to speak about Hermione's condition in front of a Malfoy. In the end, she gestured to the chairs and they all sat down.

"Are either of you familiar with Dilaudid?" she asked. Draco and Harry shook their heads. "It's a Muggle painkiller. Very strong. It seems Miss Granger has been using it excessively for the past several years."

"When you say excessively..." Harry began.

"I mean she is heavily addicted," said the Healer. "When you found her, Mister Malfoy, she had taken too much of the drug and had probably collapsed by the river."

"Jesus," Harry whispered, taking off his glasses.

"And all the blood?" Draco asked, remembering the sickening sight of the dark liquid seeping out of her mouth.

"The overdose was causing seizures. If I had to guess, I'd say she had several before completely losing consciousness. She bit her tongue quite badly in the process. It could have actually drowned her if it hadn't dripped out - quite a stroke of luck."

"Luck," Draco echoed, numbly. The thought of Hermione drowning in her own blood made his head spin. He didn't know things were this bad. How could he? The misguided belief that her life was some idyllic daydream was an embarrassingly gross assumption on his part. In reality, he knew nothing about her. Granger the perfect student had become Granger with real problems, just like him.

"Now I understand Miss Granger has been under some stress recently - "

"Yeah, her loser boyfriend shags everything with a vagina," snapped Draco, still trying to absorb the knowledge that Hermione was addicted to Muggle drugs. "That's pretty stressful."

The Healer glared at Draco before continuing. "As I was saying, perhaps her personal problems have been going on longer than she was letting on. That's just speculation, of course, but an addiction of this magnitude suggests that she may have been trying to cope by abusing the medication."

"Poor 'Mione," Harry said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I had no idea."

"She will need to stay here until midday for treatment, but after that, she will be free to go," said the Healer, standing up. "Her system took quite a beating with the pills - the habit must stop, unless she wishes to do irreparable damage. We will give her some potion to help with any withdrawals she might experience, but I'm afraid it's largely experimental. We don't deal with Muggle pharmaceuticals very often. Please don't hesitate to contact me should you have any questions, Mister _Potter_." She said the last word with extra emphasis to underscore the fact that she did not want to hear another word from Draco. Draco sneered at her in return.

After the Healer left, both men stayed put in their chairs, trying to make sense of everything they'd heard.

"How could she even get access to those drugs?" Draco said, eventually. "Aren't they fairly regulated in the Muggle world?"

"I have a theory about that," said Harry. "Her parents were both dentists. I'm willing to bet that if I search her flat, I'll find several prescription pads that she's been filling out."

"Merlin," Draco breathed. "I thought she had the perfect life. Shows how much I know."

"You're telling me," Harry said, wringing his hands. "I'm supposed to be her best friend and I didn't even know she was addicted to painkillers."

"It's not your fault, Potter," said Draco, realizing uncomfortably that he was reassuring someone who he had always hated. Now with them both sitting here, he felt surprisingly indifferent. Funny how quickly things changed. "It's not like you've been nearby."

"But that's the problem," said Harry, looking up. "I haven't been around. I wanted to get out of the public eye and Hermione's had nobody to turn to. Maybe I could have helped her. God knows what she's been dealing with... Her parents are missing, things are a mess with Ron... I know she had trouble dealing with the aftermath of the War. She needed a friend and I wasn't there. She couldn't even turn to her own bloody fiance for help."

"I don't claim to know Granger all that well, but I highly doubt she blames you for anything," said Draco with a shrug. "She's not the type."

"She doesn't need to," Harry replied, shaking his head. "I blame myself."

"Blame the red-headed git if you're going to blame anyone," Draco said, stifling a yawn. "I doubt she would have overdosed if he hadn't made her a laughingstock on the cover of every newspaper in the hemisphere. Doesn't do much for one's stress levels, I can tell you that from first hand experience." He yawned again and didn't fight it this time. He could barely hold his eyes open. Sleep came sporadically on a good night - this was pushing his limits. "Listen Potter, now that you're here, I'm going home. I doubt Granger would be happy to see my face when she wakes up."

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Draco looked at him with a frown. Surely he wasn't that naive?

"I'm a Malfoy, Potter. You saw the way that Healer looked at me. I'm a walking bad luck omen. I'm the scourge of society."

"Come on," Harry snorted, much to Draco's surprise. "You sound like you've been drinking the Ministry Kool-Aid."

"The what?" Draco asked.

"The Kool... Never mind. What I mean to say is, you sound like you believe what the gossip rags blather on about."

Draco let out a dry laugh. "You might too if you saw the joke my life has become. And on that note, I want to ask you for one thing."

"Anything," said Harry, completely seriously.

"Don't tell Granger about me. Just make something up. I don't want to get caught up in any of this. I've got problems enough."

"Seriously? I think she ought to know who saved her," Harry said with a frown.

"Just promise me," Draco said, tersely. "It's all I ask for in exchange."

"Fine, fine," Harry replied, his hands up in surrender. "But she's not going to like me keeping anything from her. I'm sure you remember how she can be."

"I'm confident you'll think of something," Draco said, taking one last look at Hermione's sleeping face. So Gryffindor's princess was a closet junkie. He never would have guessed. Maybe everyone had something to hide after all. It was a surprisingly depressing thought.

With a nod to the saviour of the wizarding world, Draco turned on his heel and walked out. "Evening, Potter."

* * *

Hermione woke up feeling like she had been kicked in the head. The buzzing in her ears told her she was alive, but the pain in her body made her wish that she wasn't. It was a throbbing, searing ache that attacked her nerves, balling her muscles into angry fists of agony. What the hell had happened?

And her mouth - it felt like she had swallowed a bag of cotton balls. She tried to move her tongue, and was rewarded with a sharp pain that made her whimper.

"Hermione?" said a voice.

_Harry_. She couldn't speak, she couldn't even open her eyes, but she knew that voice. She hadn't heard it in so long. Tears began leaking down the side of her face before she even registered that she was crying.

Soft fingers were touching her cheeks, and she felt a kiss being placed on her forehead.

"It's going to be okay, love. I'm here," murmured the voice. "I'm so sorry I haven't been there for you."

She sobbed quietly, willing her eyes to open. Slowly, with effort, they did. A blurry vision of Harry stood in front of her. His hair had gotten a bit shaggy, and he was unshaven, but she had never been so happy to see him in her life.

"Harry," she said, her voice sounding like sandpaper. Another sharp pain in her mouth.

"Don't speak," he said quickly. "You've damaged your tongue. It's still healing."

"What happened?" she mumbled, ignoring his advice.

"You... You were found. Unconscious by the river. You were barely alive 'Mione, but they got you fixed up in time."

She frowned, trying to think back. Why would she be...

The memories hit her like a brick wall. Ron. Ron and his most recent conquest. Ron and all his other dalliances over the years, stupidly thinking she wouldn't catch on. Her, stubbornly hanging onto the relationship, convinced he was still worth it, after all that. Her parents, gone like they never existed, despite all of her searching. Harry being so far away. Burying all those bodies, face after face of people she knew. Constantly having to stay strong for everyone else. The crippling anxiety that seemed to get worse as time went on. Her, feeling isolated and alone, year after year. That empty space inside of her growing like the plague. No control over anything, like a carousel from hell.

It was all too much.

The pills. The sweet escape they offered her, dulling everything, in the end. They gave her comfort nobody else could. They gave her the illusion of control. That was enough for her.

The press, hounding her after that horrible cover story. Exposing her farce of a life. Showing everyone that she was a fraud. She wasn't strong after all.

Her, incapable of dealing with it anymore. The trauma. The anxiety. The sadness. The pretending, oh God, the pretending. She had gotten so good at it that nobody had even caught on.

More pills.

The bathroom tile making all those funny shapes.

What had she done? Everything after the bathroom tile was gone from her mind. Did she take too much? Did she overdose? Harry said she was barely alive when she was found.

_Oh no_.

That meant... That meant Harry knew. Her secret was out. She had sworn she'd take it to the grave, and she had failed at that too. Harry knew.

_Please no_.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away from Harry, ashamed. Nobody was supposed to find out. It was a weakness she was happy to hide, always telling herself she would quit before being discovered. How had she faked her way through five years of dependency only to slip up now?

"You don't need to explain, Hermione," he said, gently. "I'm not here to judge you. I just wish you had told me."

_Yeah right_. Tell him that her ability to handle stress had become non-existant? That she couldn't so much as deal with a parking ticket without resorting to drugs? She wanted to respond that he was always busy, always too busy to talk to her about anything other than superficial pleasantries, that she didn't want to place that kind of a burden on him anyway. Turns out it had happened regardless. Here they were in a hospital, and she had nearly died because of her own reckless habit. Her tongue was throbbing.

With a squeak, the hospital doors swung open, and a woman in a white lab coat with a severe expression on her face walked in.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Nice to see that you are awake!" the Healer said. "We were quite worried about you."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was shushed quiet.

"Your tongue is healing, dear. Give it a couple more hours of rest. I can explain everything in more detail later. You're very lucky to be alive - you almost didn't make it! Thank goodness you were found by Mister - "

The woman was silenced by a scathing look from Harry. Hermione looked between the two of them, confused.

"By the gentleman who happened to be walking along the river," finished the Healer, with a nervous smile. "Drink this medication now, dear. I'll be back shortly."

The woman nearly jogged out of the room.

Hermione frowned to herself, turning things over in her sluggish mind, the horror of having her secret discovered weighing heavily on her. Still, that was odd. Something was wrong with that interaction. She sipped the nasty green medication.

"Who found me, Harry?" she said, slowly, swallowing with a grimace. "Who saved me?"

"Just a bloke from the neighbourhood," he said, putting on a cheerful smile that she recognized from the few times he'd tried to lie to her. "Brought you in and then left. Never got his name."

Even with a sluggish mind, Hermione was smarter than your average witch. Even with a drug habit, she could sniff out her best friend inventing a story. There was a reason she had been able to cover it up all these years. She had become the better liar, simple as that.

Harry had not.

"Really? Just dropped me off and took off?"

"Mmhmm," he nodded, fidgeting slightly with his hands. "Pity. Would have liked to thank him."

"Me too," she said, eyeing his nervous behaviour. _Rubbish_, she thought. Perhaps Harry had forgotten who he was dealing with, but she was not the type to let a bad lie go unexamined, recovery or not. She would find out. Trouble was, if he was bothering to lie at all, he wasn't going to just come right out and say it. Harry was nearly as stubborn as she was.

She blinked and scrunched up her face at the pain in her head. The foul medication was clouding her thoughts. She needed to buy a bit of time to think this over. It was easier to push away her feelings of shame when she had a problem to solve. This was a puzzle, and she would put it together, piece by piece.

An idea came to her.

"Harry? Could you tell me about your life? Tell me about France. It's been so long since you've updated me."

His eyes lit up and he began talking. He had bought an old farmhouse. He even had chickens. Life was quiet there, which was exactly what he needed. He talked and talked and talked, Hermione drifting in and out of alertness, sometimes hearing his tales and sometimes ruminating on the identity of her rescuer. Why was Harry lying? Who was he lying for? The incident was just one giant black hole in her mind. Nothing helpful to pull from.

Harry's voice dipped and hummed in her ears as he chatted, and slowly, Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, the ache of her tongue subsiding as she drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Aw, you guys are sweet. I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. This was a fun chapter to write... You get a taste of what Hermione can do. Please remember to comment - if there are enough reviews, you'll have another sparkly new chapter here tomorrow! (Maybe I shouldn't tell you this so early on, but for any Boy in the Hammock fans, I've brought back those BAMF-y Malfoys for you down the line!) xo_

* * *

Hermione was cold, so cold, but she was cradled against a warm body, her nose in the crook of their neck. She could smell aftershave and cedar. Arms were wrapped protectively around her. "Hold tight, Granger," whispered a voice.

She woke up with a gasp.

"Good morning," said Harry, smiling from her bedside. "You dozed off pretty quickly. I was starting to think you didn't want to her about my boring country life after all."

"Oh, I'm sorry Harry..." she moaned.

"Stop," he said, dismissing her worries with a wave of his hand. "I'm just teasing. You needed the sleep."

"How long have I been out?" she said, looking around the room with concern.

"Just an hour. The Healer said you could leave in a few hours. Bloody rude bint, honestly, but as long as she keeps you healthy I can't complain. With that in mind, what can I do to help you? Do you want me to take you back to your flat?"

"No no," she said muddily, shaking her head. _Damn_. She had meant to think everything over, not fall asleep. Perhaps she needed a different approach. If Harry wasn't going to give her the information she wanted, then she would have to get crafty about it, and fast. Harry couldn't be around if she was going to take that route though. He would never approve.

"Don't worry about taking me to my flat," she said, an idea solidifying in her mind. "There might be something else though... Although I feel bad about asking... "

"Whatever you need," he said, leaning in closely.

"Could you deal with the Ministry?" she pleaded. "They need to know I'm not missing, officially, I mean. Somebody will need to fill out the paperwork, and I don't want to handle that if I can avoid it. The stress sets me off, and I want to stay out of sight for a while."

"Okay," Harry said, reluctantly. "I can do that for you. Speaking of wanting to stay out of sight, I also brought something that might help you avoid the stupidity that's waiting for you." He pulled out a silvery cloak from his bag, and handed it to Hermione.

She took it with a smile. "Are you referring to the press, or to Ron?"

"Both," he responded, bluntly. "I'm going to stay in England for the next few days. I have some business to take care of. When can I see you?"

"Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow?" she said. "That way I can take tonight and tomorrow during the day to recover a bit."

"Deal," he said, squeezing her hand and placing a kiss on her cheek. "You'll speak to the Healer, yes? They can help you with all of this. Help you get clean. You don't need to do this alone, Hermione."

"Yes, I'll speak to her," she said, reddening a bit from embarrassment. Harry's knowledge of her habit would take some getting used to. Her instinct was still to deny deny deny. "I'll take the help. I'm not looking to land myself here again."

"Glad to hear it," he said, smiling. "I'll be in touch."

She watched him leave, already feeling significantly better just having him nearby again. The older she got, the more she missed him. It was hard to find that sort of genuine connection out in the real world, and Merlin knew she had lost it with Ron over the years. She had begun to feel chronically misunderstood. Like she was floating from one day to the next, all her anchors lost at sea.

That said, with him gone, she could get down to business.

"Miss Granger!" barked a female voice. The Healer who had stopped by earlier walked into the room and stood in front of Hermione. "Just need to do a quick checkup. How's the tongue feeling?"

"Not bad," she said, praising the Gods for their timing.

"Yes? Open up please. Let's have a look."

Hermione opened her mouth, and while the Healer was distracted with her examination, slid her hand under the sheets to where her wand lay.

"Can you say something for me please?" said the Healer.

"Petrificus totalis," said Hermione. And then, apologetically, "I'm sorry, but I have to know." Pointing her wand at the Healer's forehead, ignoring the woman's stunned expression, she slipped inside her thoughts and rooted around.

Mending bones.

Filling out paperwork.

Healing a rash.

_There she was_. In the arms of... Draco Malfoy? How on earth...? There was blood rushing out of her mouth and her skin was deathly pale. Draco explaining in a panic that she needed treatment right away. Rummaging through his wallet and emptying it to pay off the Healer to keep quiet. Furious when they wouldn't tell him what was wrong. Being treated like an outcast. Asking them to call Harry. Sitting by her bedside, his head in his hands. Being told about her addiction. Being told she would do permanent damage if she didn't stop. Blood on his shirt.

Hermione left the woman's mind with a gasp. She narrowed her eyes at the Healer.

"Obliviate," she whispered, sending her out of the room with a confused smile.

To say she was stunned was an understatement. This didn't make sense. She and Draco had said all of five words to one another since the War, although admittedly, they had developed a rather comfortable truce over the past couple of years. She had gotten used to seeing him around the building, tall and pale, those strange grey eyes resting on her when they shared a ride in the lift. His arrogance had waned over the years, and she wondered privately if he might be one of the few people who understood the kind of isolation that was eating away at her. The air of confident superiority he wore in public was a complete smokescreen. How could it not be? She knew what people said about his family. She knew that they had been pushed out of society. She knew how far he had fallen from his privileged youth.

His loneliness stretched out around him like an oil spill. Perhaps hers did too.

So Draco had found her and saved her life. He knew about her addiction. What a strange turn of events. Why didn't Harry want to say? Had Draco asked him not to tell her? It seemed likely, for some reason. The Slytherin kept to himself, and rescuing a War hero was not a recipe for privacy. Not that the tabloids respected his privacy to begin with. They hounded him like a wild dog. Perhaps he just didn't want to risk it. This could so easily be misconstrued into something that made him out to be the villain. He had saved her life and yet, if left to their own devices, the papers would make it seem like he caused it to fall apart. It was the sad truth.

Well, if Draco had requested silence, Harry hadn't broken any promises. Hermione had simply broken the law. It seemed she was doing that a lot lately. But what to do? She owed him a life debt. There was no getting around it and she wasn't about to pretend otherwise. But Draco was proud - _so proud_ - and he wouldn't take well to her lavishing him in genuine thanks. Comfortable truce or not, she was sure his temper was still perfectly intact. Being on the receiving end of it was deeply unappealing.

Then there was the issue of those bloody pills. She had fallen so far down the rabbit hole she had almost not come back up. She had hurt her body and ruined her mind in the process, making her incapable of handling any stress at all without self medicating. It was a disaster, an absolute embarrassment, and now it was known to the precious few who had discovered the truth. Hopefully those precious few would keep it quiet. She couldn't imagine this leaking out into the public. To them, she was still the brave woman who helped bring Voldemort down. She wanted to stay that way, if only for the shreds of her ego that remained.

Overdosing, however, was a wake-up call. No more lying to herself. She wasn't the one who kept it together after the horrors of War. Far from it. She was the one who needed her pills to sleep, fuck, fight, work, and relax. On the outside, she was confident, smart, and highly-organized. That part of her still functioned, running on auto-pilot when all else failed. On the inside, she was a mess.

There was no getting around it: the drugs had been running the show. Innocent-looking capsules that she relied on more than she relied on her loved ones. They numbed all disappointment, fear, heartache. It had been so long since she actually _felt_ something without reaching for the bottle. It was no way to live, and it had nearly killed her. Something had to change.

A new mission started to form in her mind. First, she needed to find a way to pay Draco back for what he had done. Prickly personality aside, he was a much better human being than people gave him credit for. There must be something he needed, something she could help with. She was ashamed to admit that aside from knowing he was lambasted regularly in the press, she didn't really have the faintest idea what he did for work. Hermione resolved to spend the evening researching, planning and potentially calling in some favours. He would be angry, but then again, when was he not? She knew how to work with difficult people. She had been engaged to Ron, after all.

Second, she needed to get off these drugs. She would take whatever medicine the hospital offered her, but this habit needed to stop. Starting now, she would never take another pill. This was a hostile takeover, a reclaiming of her body and her mind. Cold turkey. No exceptions. The Hermione from her Hogwarts days would never have let herself be ruled by such tiny, insidious invaders. She would have fought. She would have risen up the the challenge and shown the world that she was worthy of her reputation. No more weakness, no more pity, no more games, no more Ron.

Starting now, that's exactly what she would do. The habit was hereby banished. Repaying a life debt was on the agenda. Hermione Granger was back.

* * *

"You're a sucker! You're a sucker!" said the annoying toy, its piercing voice leaking through his closed door. Draco covered his ears with his hands. If that blasted toy was any indication, this day was going to be worse than yesterday. And that was saying something.

He had barely slept, images of Granger with blood dripping down her neck haunting him when he finally did. Now he was at the office, and Blaise's stupid toy was running off at the mouth. The bills he had set aside the day before were still there. In fact, there were even more now. He had received three new rejection letters from potential clients, some of whom were more polite than others about their reasons for not buying his brooms. The debt taunted him.

"You're a sucker! You're a sucker! You're a - "

The aggravating voice stopped mid-insult. _Odd_. He wasn't going to complain though. Maybe Blaise finally got tired of the thing. He could hear his friend saying something on the other side of the door. Straining, Draco tried to make it out.

"No, I'm glad to see you, but why do you want to see Draco?" he heard. "Honestly, he just got in, and I don't think he wants to be dist - "

His door flew open, and a determined Hermione Granger stood on the other side. She was wearing jeans and a blue fleece jumper, some silvery fabric slung over her arm. They stared at each other for several seconds while Blaise looked on from behind, a look of complete confusion on his face. _Shite_. He hadn't told Blaise anything about the incident, hoping it would disappear conveniently into the abyss. Apparently that had been too much to hope for. That was going to be a bitch to explain.

He held her gaze with as much confidence as he could muster, hoping to intimidate her enough to make her turn right back around. It worked sometimes with delivery boys. They all assumed he was some sort of murderous bastard and booted it out of the office the second the package was delivered. Maybe Granger would buy the lie.

_Please buy the lie_.

She didn't flinch, a stubborn glint in her eye, raising her chin in defiance.

"Fucking Potter," Draco swore, running his hand through his hair and looking away.

Hermione took that as an invite to join him. "Harry didn't tell me," she said, calmly, sitting in the guest chair and crossing her legs. "I figured it out."

"Bull, Granger," Draco said, trying to think of ways to make Harry pay for breaking his confidence.

"Bull nothing, it's the truth," she said.

"Why should I believe that?" he replied, annoyed now. He didn't want to talk to her about this. The whole event was an ordeal he would rather forget, and he couldn't very well forget when she was sitting across from him with that fucking _look_ on her face. He didn't even know what the look meant, he just knew it pissed him off. Everything pissed him off today.

"Because I'm here to return your bribe money," she said, slapping down a handful of bills and coins.

He stared at the pile. _How in the fuck..._

"She's not going to remember anything from yesterday anyway," she added, morbidly.

His eyebrows shot up. This was not a side of Granger he knew very well. If this is how she behaved during the War, however, it might explain how she hadn't gotten completely flattened. He cleared his throat and looked at the money again. _Damn_. There was really no avoiding this conversation, was there?

"Blaise, could you please give us a minute?" Draco said. Blaise glanced between the two of them and then backed out quietly, closing the door.

She stared at him straight on, her no-nonsense expression reminding him painfully of Hogwarts. This is how she looked when she was about to answer a question in class. Right before she solved an impossible riddle. Except this time the riddle was _him_.

"Why did you ask Harry not to tell me?"

"Aren't you supposed to be recovering or something?" he winced.

"Don't change the topic. I'm fine. Why did you ask Harry not to tell me?"

"How can you be fine? You were almost dead yesterday."

"Malfoy..." she said, her tone all warning.

"Because I didn't want you to know," he replied, giving up and rubbing his temples. "Things aren't going so well for me, Granger. I can't really take any more drama in my life right now. Besides, you know as well as I do that the press would have spun it badly. They would have made me look responsible somehow. They aren't interested in the truth when it comes to me."

"I've gathered that much," she admitted. "Have you told anyone about what happened?"

"Gods no. Didn't you hear what I said about drama? I hate to break it to you Granger, but you're a bit of a newsmaker."

Her shoulders dropped with relief. "I've been reading about your business," she said, casually.

"Which one?" he said, his voice suddenly sounding a bit hysterical. "This will be the third to bite the dust in as many years. Did you read about how my family embodies all that is wrong with the world? Or perhaps you read about how I was voted 'Most Reprehensible Bachelor' four years running? Did you read about how the Manor is about to cave in on itself? Or how our designs were stolen by the competition? Your research can't beat mine, Granger. I've read it all."

"Hire me," she said.

Draco looked at her incredulously.

"I think those drugs have addled your brain," he stated.

"I'm serious," she replied.

"So am I! I think they've done some serious damage. Listen to yourself, Granger. You're suggesting _crazy things_."

"It's not crazy, it's a job!"

"Granger, I'm broke. Even if we ignore the fact that hiring you is the dumbest plan I've ever heard, I don't even have the capital to do it."

"So hire me on paper and I'll work for free," she said, shrugging.

"Why?" he said. "You're the brainiac here. Why in Merlin's name does that make sense to you?"

"Because I can save your business," she said, simply. "Look, I'm leaving my job at the Ministry. I can't handle all the whispering and the sympathetic looks and the possibility that I might have to see Ron every time I leave my desk. I have enough savings not to work for a while, and since I strongly suspect you'd never let me thank you properly for saving my life, I'm offering you something you actually need."

He didn't have a response for that.

"Your next question will be, 'Granger, how can you save my business?'" she said, doing a poor imitation of his voice. "Let me tell you. I'm a War hero _and_ I'm a wronged woman. Everybody in the magical world pities me, not that I'm pleased about it. And yet, I can use it to my advantage. I'll become the spokesperson for Trebax Brooms. I'll push for new clients, align us with charities, change the tone of the press... I will do it all and then some. If you're not wildly successful within three months, you can fire me."

Draco opened his mouth and then shut it again. What the bloody hell was he supposed to say? He didn't want to be her pity project, but he wanted so badly for his business to succeed. It was a matter of survival at this point. His mother's face came to mind. She was much thinner than she should be. And his father was a complete mess no matter how hard he tried to hide it. What would he tell them if the Manor had to be shut down? Would they all live in his tiny little flat?

"Plus I really need this," Hermione said, more quietly. "My life is in shambles, as you've probably realized. I'm trying to get better, but I need to keep myself busy. Working for you takes care of that while also letting me return a good deed at the same time."

Draco rubbed his forehead and sighed. This day was going to kill him. Hire Hermione Granger or face bankruptcy? Was this really the choice he had to make?

"Look," she said, trying again. "I've spent the past five years feeling like my life was mapped out for me... Like I had no control over where I was headed. I ended up addicted to drugs to cope. For the first time in a long time, I've got a chance to change the path I'm on. Please help me?"

"I don't know Granger," Draco said, grimacing. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer... I do. I really do. It's just - "

"Stop," she said, holding up her hand. "I know what you're going to say. Just hear me out. If you won't do it for the business and you won't do it for my mental health, do it for this reason." She leaned in conspiratorially, and motioned for him to come closer. He found himself leaning in, curious about the sneaky look that had taken over her face. He caught a whiff of magnolia. Something funny twinged in his chest.

"Think of Ron's reaction," she whispered.

A slow smile spread across Draco's face.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Apologies for the long note here, but I need to thank you guys. Last night was really bad, like colossally bad. My dog's throat closed up and I spent many hours in an emergency animal hospital in my pyjamas bawling my eyes out in front of a bunch of strangers. My dog is my best friend - watching him struggle to breathe and then seeing him hooked up to tubes and blinking machines was just too much. My boyfriend was working a night shift, so it was just me and my box of kleenex, trying to imagine what my life would look like without my buddy. The only thing I had with me other than my wallet was my phone, and partway through the evening, I checked my mail. Your comments poured in and gave me a little bit of happiness in an otherwise terrible situation. THANK YOU. I just found out that the surgery is over and we're waiting to hear how / if he's going to recover. Scary shit. I just wanted to let you know that I appreciated every word from you. _

_Onto the chapter: Hermione is totally sneaky. Please review - tomorrow's chapter is key to what's going on under all that sneakiness. xo_

* * *

Harry blasted open the door of the storage room in The Wizard's Hat, an ancient tavern that never seemed to close. It was five in the morning and he had been looking for Ron since he left Hermione at the hospital. Apparently Ron had been busy. Every pub in Diagon Alley had seen him. Every pub reported that he seemed especially nervous. He would have one drink, and then take off, sometimes without paying.

Bleary eyed and furious, Harry was finally at the end of the line. He stormed past the rickety old tables decorated with napping drunks, following a tip from the bartender that someone matching Ron's description had wandered to the loo and had yet to return. The loo was empty, and Harry pieced the rest together on his own. Ron was hiding. There was only one other place he could be.

The door flew off its hinges without protest, and someone inside the dark space swore. Harry squinted into the din.

"Come out, you coward!" Harry yelled.

Silence.

"Ron, I will drag you out myself if I have to. Is that what you want?"

Harry heard a slight mumbling.

"What was that, Ron?"

"I said 'no' for Merlin's sake," slurred the voice. More grumbling and the clunk of boxes tumbling over. Slowly, Ron stepped into the buzzing yellow light.

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Ron said, his eyes swollen and his lip cut.

"Codswallop," Harry said, and then he reared back his fist and punched Ron in the face. There was a satisfying crunch and he relished the surprised yelp of pain that echoed around the room. _Good_. Ron deserved to hurt after what he had done.

"Looks like someone got to you before me, you arse," Harry seethed, advancing on Ron who was on all fours, scrambling to get away. "What the fuck were you thinking? This is Hermione we're talking about! She was your best friend, and you somehow got lucky enough to date her. She agreed to _marry_ you. Hermione who saved your life time and time again. Hermione who you are supposed to love and cherish, not embarrass and hurt, you tosser! What the fuck were you thinking?" Ron was attempting to dive into a pile of packing crates, and Harry landed a sharp kick to his ribs. Another crunch and a choked cry.

"I wasn't!" Ron wailed, clutching his stomach and rolling around on the filthy ground. "I wasn't thinking! It happened once when I was drunk and she had no idea... So I did it again. And then it just kept happening."

"You make it sound like a passive fuck, Ron," Harry said. "Sex doesn't 'happen' to you. You weren't raped. You fucked your way through half of England, and you can't make me believe they were all just drunken rolls in the hay."

"Look, I didn't mean for her to find out," Ron gasped. "I wanted to stop, but these girls... They seduced me! How can I turn them down?"

"Usually saying 'no' works really well," Harry muttered. "And please... Hermione not finding something out? How long have you known her? I think she's been onto you for years. Did you even know she was addicted to Muggle painkillers?"

"What?" said Ron, looking up in shock. "Those headache pills? She said they were for migraines."

"They would fix a migraine on a giant," Harry responded. "She's been found, by the way. Almost died of an overdose."

Ron's face crumpled with grief. "Fuck," he said. "Poor Hermione. I didn't want this."

"You created this," Harry said. "You're a spineless coward."

"I know," Ron said, congested, sitting up now with his head in his hands. "I know. I've ruined everything."

"That you have," said Harry, looking at Ron with disgust. He was noticing more bruises now, as well as the split lip and the puffy eyes. There was a long silence, with Ron's raspy breath echoing in the dank room. Harry felt his pulse slow down a bit, and sucked in a lungful of musty air, trying to get his control back.

"Things really fell apart after the Final Battle," Ron mumbled. "I thought I was handling it, but I guess I just kept getting worse. Took it out on the wrong people in the wrong way."

Harry knew what Ron was referring to. Losing Ginny had nearly destroyed them both, but Harry knew Ginny would have had a fit if she had seen how Ron was behaving. "Everything fell apart after the Final Battle, but it affected all of us, Ron. Hermione too. You should have asked for help."

"I manage it on my own," Ron muttered.

"Seems to be working well for you."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"So really... Who beat me to it?" Harry said, feeling slightly calmer now. "You look like you'd already been tossed around before I got to you."

"Blaise, at first," he said. "Apologized in advance and then laid into me. Said I deserved it. Then a bunch of random blokes at the bar. Not sure if that was for Hermione or for the drinks I didn't pay for."

"Remind me to thank Blaise," Harry said.

Ron stared at the ground, massaging his ribs.

"I'm really sorry about all this, Harry," Ron mumbled. "Honestly."

"You should be," Harry said. "But I'm not the one you have to say it to."

The sound of footsteps made them both look back down the hall. The bartender was walking towards them with a newspaper in his hand. He looked at Harry, and then at Ron, bloody and bruised on the ground, before he shrugged.

"Isn't this the bird you were looking for?" he said, shoving The Prophet into Ron's hands. Ron squinted at the text, his expression changing from one of confusion, to one of shock, to one of anger.

"What the fuck?" Ron exclaimed. "What the hell is this?"

Harry grabbed the paper out of his hands to see. He looked at the cover and groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Draco was going to be furious.

DRACO MALFOY A HERO: SAVES HERMIONE GRANGER FROM CERTAIN DEATH, said the title. Below, there was a huge picture of Hermione, smiling gratefully and holding up a photo of Draco, mouthing the words "thank you."

* * *

Draco looked at Hermione's expectant face and sighed. "Okay Granger. You've made your case. I sure hope I don't live to regret this, but I guess you're hired."

"Excellent," she beamed. "I can start right away... There's so much to do, and we can't waste any time."

Draco shook his head in amused horror. "You just got out of the hospital after nearly dying and your arse of a fiance basically tried to ruin your life. Serious question here: don't you want a day to recover?"

"I can recover while I'm working," she said, frowning stubbornly. "As I told you, I cope better when I'm busy. What I need now is a desk and access to an owl, so I can start with - "

A knock at the door interrupted them. Blaise walked in with a newspaper in his hand.

"Blaise, you remember Granger, of course," Draco said, gesturing to Hermione. "She's going to be working with us for a while."

Blaise cocked a surprised eyebrow at Hermione. "No kidding!"

"I'm working for free," she clarified. "I'm going to try and help save the business."

"Well then, welcome!" Blaise said with a suave smile. "It will be nice to see a pretty face around the office. I'm usually just stuck with Draco all day. Can you imagine?"

Hermione laughed and then covered her mouth, blushing.

"Hey!" Draco said, affronted, annoyed that Blaise was already making his move on someone he thought was dead only half an hour before.

"Hey nothing," said Blaise. "The lady has a sense of humour. Now as happy as I am to hear you'll be joining the team, Granger, I actually came in for a different reason. I have a funny feeing Draco will want to see the newspaper that was just dropped off to us. Rather odd story on the cover."

Hermione's smile faltered. "Oh yes?" she said.

Noticing her sudden awkwardness, Draco took the paper from Blaise's hands, suspicion creeping into his mind. His brow furrowed.

"What the hell Granger!" he cried, looking at the front page article. "Hero? Certain death? What the twirling fuck is this?"

"The first part of my plan," she said, matter-of-factly.

"But that's not possible!" he said. "I only just hired you ten seconds ago!"

"Well, I didn't really expect you to say no," she said, innocently. "I had to get a head start." Draco opened his mouth to protest but Hermione waved him off with her hand. "Malfoy, it's going to be fine. My plan for the business hinges on establishing your heroism. You were right when you said the press would spin it badly, but I found a way around that. This article is completely positive. Just grin and bear it - once you're out of the red, you can complain all you want. Trust me, okay?"

"Trust you?" he sputtered.

"I realize it seems counter-intuitive, but I know you can do it," she said.

"I can't tell if she's being serious!" Draco said to Blaise, pointing accusingly at Hermione.

"Of course I'm serious," she sighed. "Blaise, would you mind helping me set up a desk somewhere? I have piles of paperwork to get started on."

"Certainly," Blaise replied, shooting an amused grin to Draco, who was still gaping like a fish out of water. "There's a perfect space right across from my work area. I'll meet you out there."

"Great! I'll go look around a bit," she said, wandering out of the room.

Blaise turned back to Draco, the grin now replaced with a stern expression.

"We need to have a serious discussion, Draco."

"I know, I know... Hiring her is going to be a disaster," Draco said, burying his head in his hands.

"No. Hiring her is a stroke of genius. She'll have the press at her beck and call. Minus how your parents will react, I haven't got any issue with that. We need to talk about _this_." Blaise held up the newspaper again, pointing to the headline. "When were you going to tell me that you saved Granger's life? How did that tiny nugget of information escape your considerable mental capacities? Do you not remember me bringing her disappearance to your attention? Do you not remember me dragging Weasley out of here because I was worried about what had happened to her? Did you not think I might find this information useful? I may not know her all that well, but I did help fill out a missing persons report with her arse of an ex-boyfriend. It would have been nice to hear it from your mouth before The Prophet told me."

Draco reddened a bit and looked up at Blaise. "I'm sorry mate. I would have told you, honestly, but it was supposed to be a secret."

"Too secret to tell me?" Blaise said, clearly hurt.

"No, of course not... I just thought that if nobody knew, I could pretend it didn't happen. I didn't ask for any of this."

"What about Potter? Sure sounds like he knew."

"Swore him to secrecy, not that it matters now," Draco muttered. "He came to get her at the hospital. Said he wouldn't say anything."

Blaise shook his head. "Draco, I'm sorry, but you're a bloody fool. Potter obviously has nothing to do with this. You left Granger, _Hermione Granger_, in a hospital with a wand and no information as to how she got there. You're lucky she didn't obliviate everyone in the ward."

"I don't think she's evil Blaise," Draco scoffed.

"I'm not saying she's evil! Quite the opposite! This is Gryffindor's princess we're talking about. I'm saying she is _Hermione Granger_. We may not have been close with her in school, but we know this much: she always wants an answer. If she doesn't have one on hand, she damn well finds it. Stubborn as fuck, that one."

"Look, I wasn't thinking straight, okay? I was a little shaken up and I hadn't really slept. The article wasn't exaggerating when it said she was nearly dead when I found her. It wasn't exactly a great night." The article had left out all mentions of drugs, which Draco was thankful for. He really didn't want to have to discuss Hermione's dirty laundry with anyone. The very idea made him uncomfortable. This whole _situation_ made him uncomfortable.

Blaise observed Draco for several seconds before nodding with a sigh. "Okay. I understand. I've got to say... Attempted secrecy aside, I'm pretty impressed with you."

"How so?" Draco said.

Blaise shrugged. "There was a time in your past when a younger Draco Malfoy might not have cared so much if she died."

Draco looked up at his friend and then down at his hands, stretching his fingers out in front of him. There was a time in his past when his hands had to be scrubbed every night to get the dirt and blood off. There was nothing nostalgic about those years... Just sadness and death.

"Yeah, well you can see where that attitude brought me," he said, grimacing. "I'm ruined. Can't even get anyone to return my owls unless I owe them money."

"Maybe not for long," Blaise said with a thoughtful smile. "Granger seems pretty driven to make this work. I'm actually feeling positive about our chances now."

"We'll see I guess," Draco shrugged. "I won't get my hopes up. I've been trying to do the same thing for years. The public just doesn't want me to succeed."

"Oh, don't mope. Things can't really get worse than they are now. And besides, if I get to look at Granger all day, I really can't complain," Blaise winked.

Draco frowned. "Seriously Blaise? Granger? Are we talking about the same girl?"

"Seriously. Have a closer look, Draco. You won't be sorry. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go work the old Zabini charm. If the lady needs a desk, she shall have a desk." At that, Blaise strode out of the office.

With a grumble, Draco looked back at the newspaper article, Hermione's face dominating the page. She mouthed "thank you" over and over again, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You're welcome, I guess," he said, before tossing the paper in his desk drawer.

* * *

Draco stared at the pile of mail that had accumulated in the mere four hours since he had hired Hermione. Three invites to dinner from women who have previously turned him down. Four inquiries from stores who wanted to carry his brooms. Ten interview requests. Six letters of various correspondence from former colleagues who had avoided him like the plague since the War. Three letters from creditors who had decided to give him an extension on his loans.

In. Four. Fucking. Hours.

Instead of feeling elated, he was furious. So this is what it took? He quite literally had to save the life of a decorated War hero to get a second chance? How did that make sense? He had been trying for _years_ to show society that he was worth something, that he shouldn't be tossed into the gutter for his stupid mistakes, that he could make amends on his own terms.

But all that was done now. Hermione had fixed his problems in four hours. Forget her insane timeline of taking three months to succeed - she'll have met her goals by the end of the week. When the post first started coming in, he read it with interest, excited that things might turn around, but by the tenth piece of mail from yet another opportunist, he had turned into a snarling, swearing hurricane of a man. Blaise had stopped coming by with letters, opting no doubt to busy himself helping Hermione in her noble crusade. It was only 1 p.m. and he was tenser than a rubber band set to snap, locked in his office and brooding.

There was a timid knock at the door.

"I'm not in the mood, Blaise!" he growled. "Just piss off!"

The door creaked open. A familiar mess of curls peaked around the edge.

"Hi," she said quietly. "Can I come in?"

Instead of responding, he narrowed his eyes.

"I guess I'll enter at my own risk," she murmured, slipping in and shutting the door behind her. She put her hands up in a placating gesture. "I come in peace, Malfoy. I just came to say -"

"What? Come to tell me that the world is bowing down at your feet?" he snapped.

"Just hold on..."

"Or perhaps that every shop in London will carry our brooms because you batted your eyes?"

"Malfoy..."

"It's been _years_ Granger! _Years_ I've been trying to rebuild my life, and you just waltz in here with your hero complex and your perfect record and BOOM! Everything comes up fucking roses."

"Malfoy..."

"Do you think I was really given a choice whether or not to serve Voldemort? When my parents' lives were on the line? Does that sound like a choice to you? I did what I felt I had to do and I've regretted it ever since. Judge _that_."

"Draco!"

His furious tirade came to an immediate halt, and he stared at her, wide eyed and chest heaving.

"What?" he said, flustered. The sound of his name on her lips made him twitch.

"We need to get something straight," she said, sitting down in front of him. "We may never have gotten along in school, but I have never blamed you for anything that happened. I've never agreed with the way people treated you. I certainly don't judge you for wanting to protect your parents. That is something I can empathize with far more than you understand. So please... Just stop."

His cheeks flushed pink and he glanced up at her before looking back down at his hands, gritting his teeth.

"And please don't fire me yet, because - "

"Fire you?" Draco said, looking up with an annoyed expression. "Are you daft, woman?"

She looked puzzled in return. "Well... You don't seem very happy with what I'm doing so far..."

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "No Granger, I'm not happy, I'm thrilled. Look, I appreciate what you've accomplished in such a short time. It's a bit mind-boggling, but it's appreciated. So no, I'm not going to fucking fire you. Apparently you're my most efficient employee."

"Ooh, best not tell Blaise," she said, cheekily.

Draco resisted the urge to smirk with everything he had, screwing his face into a frown. He didn't want to encourage her.

"Best not to tell Blaise what?" said Blaise, walking in the door with another pile of letters. "More fan mail, Draco. I figured I could use Hermione as a human shield if you decide to fly into a rage again."

"You certainly may not!" Hermione said hotly. "Besides which, I'm going back to my desk. I've only taken care of half my to do list and I need to finish before Harry picks me up for dinner."

"Potter's coming here?" Draco whined. "Jesus Christ, do Gryffindors have some sort of a beacon that makes them gather in groups? How many more of you do I have to see today?"

"Just us two," she said, dryly. "And there are worse things than spending time with two Gryffindors. You don't hear me complaining about working with two Slytherins, do you?"

"'Course not," Draco said, matter-of-factly. "Slytherins are charming."

She snorted. "I think your fan mail is going to your head. Blaise, Draco." With a curt nod, she stomped out of the room.

"Draco, huh?" Blaise said with a suggestive smile.

"Don't," Draco warned.

"Whatever," winked his friend. "I think you like it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to help dear Granger with her "to do" list, if you catch my drift." Blaise walked out with a swagger.

"Merlin help me," Draco whispered to himself. "I think Gryffindors might actually drive me to drink."


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hello darlings. Thank you so much for your sweet wishes about my dog. He's still at the animal hospital and he's got a breathing tube in his throat, but they tell me he can probably come home in a couple of days. Pretty awful ordeal, but I'm so happy that he's stable. I miss that dude something fierce._

_In story news, I'm thrilled you're enjoying it so far. We dig a little deeper in this chapter. If you're feeling a little icky about Ron's characterization in the story though, I just want to assure you that I have a master plan. Just ride it out with me, and in the meantime, we can enjoy some witty banter, yes? Love to you all. Please review - interesting development in tomorrow's chapter! xo_

* * *

Harry walked up the cobblestone street leading to the Trebax Brooms offices, flexing his hand. It was smarting now, a much-delayed response to clocking Ron earlier that day. He wondered vaguely if he'd broken something, but decided not to dwell on it. His hand was not the concern here... Hermione was. He hadn't seen her since the hospital the previous day and he had an uncomfortable suspicion she'd been up to a lot since then.

Another pang of pain shot up his arm, and Harry swore, causing a few people in the small lane to look up. It was starting to get busier now – end of the work day and start of the commute home. The pop of apparition echoed off the buildings as workers left for the evening. He kept his head down, not wanting to attract any attention that might slow him up. It had been an extremely long day and he was looking forward to sitting down with Hermione and straightening some things out…. Starting with that bloody story in the Prophet.

At first, Harry had been puzzled by the article. How did the reporter get hold of those details? Harry certainly hadn't told anyone, and it seemed unlikely that the staff at the hospital would have given out that sort of information. Plus the story was full of quotes from Hermione, all of them expressing her gratefulness to Draco for saving her life. There was none of the usual press venom towards the infamous Malfoys – in fact, it was probably the most positive article involving a Malfoy that Harry had read since before the War. Even more unusual was the complete avoidance of the true reason she had collapsed. The story blamed exhaustion, not an overdose of painkillers. Rather strange detail to overlook, all things considered.

The pieces didn't start to fall into place until Harry went back to the hospital to investigate. He finally tracked down the Healer who had attended to Hermione and began listing off questions, trying to understand what had happened after he had left.

Except the Healer had no idea who he was. She had no recollection of treating Hermione, no memory of Harry being called in, and when asked about Draco, she wrinkled her nose and said, "I think I would remember if I spoke with a Malfoy."

In that moment, Harry remembered what Hermione was like when she wanted answers. He also remembered what she was like when people owed her favours. Did she still have a connection at the Prophet? Did she call in a big debt to get that article written? What was she planning? He didn't recognize the name of the reporter, some junior staffer, but anything was possible with Hermione.

His suspicions were confirmed when Hermione's owl tracked him down on his way back to the Ministry. The note was brief, but spoke volumes about what his friend was up to.

_Meet me at Trebax at 6pm? We can pick a place for dinner and leave from there._

_Hermione_

"Trebax?" he said, remembering the name from somewhere. "Isn't that Malfoy's company?"

Now he was here, standing at the front door to the Trebax offices, wondering what he was going to find on the other side. One thing was for sure: there was most likely an angry Draco Malfoy in there. That was almost as bad as a scheming Hermione Granger. Lord knew what else awaited him.

With a sigh, Harry braced himself for the worst and pushed open the door, making his way up the uneven stone steps that led to the second-floor space. A murmur of voices was leaking through the entryway. He passed over the threshold.

What he saw left him thoroughly confused.

Blaise Zabini was running around the main space with stacks of paper, following the litany of requests spilling out of Hermione's mouth. She was sitting at a desk with a quill in one hand and a book in the other, looking as though she had been working there for years.

"Blaise, after those are mailed we will need to get on the press conference for tomorrow."

"Alright," Blaise said, stuffing papers into envelopes. "You have the invite list?"

"Right here," she said. "Draco will need to be briefed on what to say. I can take care of that in the morning. Where is the script?"

Blaise handed it to her without blinking and then went back to stuffing envelopes while Hermione scribbled furiously on some parchment. Neither of them noticed Harry enter.

Harry watched the scene with fascination. Blaise Zabini worked with Malfoy? He hadn't seen him since their Hogwarts years. And Hermione was working here too? Why was she calling Malfoy by his first name? What was this talk of a press conference?

"What the fuck is going on?" he whispered to himself.

"You don't want to know," said a voice, and Draco stepped up beside Harry's shoulder, looking tired and annoyed. "I've been watching for half an hour and they have no idea I'm even standing here."

Harry nodded a greeting before allowing his gaze to drift back to Hermione.

"I'd forgotten what she was like when she had a mission," Harry said, watching the flurry of activity.

"Me too, until now," Draco sighed.

"Is she really working for you?" Harry said. "I mean, is that really a thing?"

"Yeah, she is," said Malfoy. "And yeah, it's a thing. A big fucking thing."

"What did she promise you?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Said she could help the business. Said it would help her sort her life out, too."

"That's awfully kind of you, Malfoy."

"She also pointed out that it would piss Weasley off."

"Well that makes more sense," Harry smirked. "It did, royally, in case you were curious. Had to stun him to calm him down."

"Good, the tosser," Draco sniffed. "Anyway. She made her case and I agreed. Figured I had nothing to lose." He snorted with disdain to show how well that had worked out.

"And… How's the day been so far?" Harry said, somewhat dreading the answer. Draco looked jumpy and aggravated, as though an explosion was just itching under his skin.

"She's taken over the business, Potter," Draco said, bitterly. "I don't even know what to do anymore. I can't complete my normal work because it might interfere with her blasted 'plan.' I'm not even sure what the 'plan' is, come to think of it. She's like a goddamn hurricane of helpfulness, but with none of the explanation."

Harry nodded. Only Draco Malfoy could make helpfulness sound like a bad thing, but in this case, he knew exactly what the Slytherin meant. "Have things gotten worse then?"

"Not exactly," Draco said. "The business can only get better. But I'll tell you what has gotten worse. My nerves, my patience, and my tolerance for loud-mouthed Gryffindors."

"Hey, I didn't say a word!" Harry said, finally wrenching his eyes away from Hermione and meeting Draco's accusing glare. "I had nothing to do with that article. She obliviated the Healer, okay? I kept my promise."

"You're sure?" Draco asked, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. "She sort of insinuated that, but I didn't quite believe it."

"Believe it," Harry said. "The woman didn't remember me or you when I stopped in today."

"Christ, Granger's a menace!" Draco said, looking over at Hermione in shock. "I seriously thought she was still just a boring bookworm."

"She has never been a boring bookworm, thank you very much, and I should point out that I warned you Hermione wouldn't react well to being kept in the dark," said Harry. "You said it wasn't your problem, remember?"

Draco bit his tongue and then clenched his jaw. "It appears I was wrong."

Harry chuckled, unexpectedly. "Never thought I'd hear you say that, Malfoy."

Draco kept his face blank. "A lot of strange things are happening lately, Potter."

They both watched Blaise and Hermione continue to work, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. Every now and then Hermione would sigh contentedly and viciously scratch something off the parchment in front of her.

"I notice she calls you Draco now," Harry whispered, not wanting to disrupt the comfortable hum that had descended over the office.

Draco grunted in response. He clearly didn't want to talk about it.

Harry tried with another question that had been weighing on his mind. "How's she seem? You know… With the addiction? I know the hospital gave her something to manage the withdrawals, but – "

"She seems exactly the same as she's always been, Potter. A total control freak and happiest when she's buried in paper."

Harry sighed. "That's what I'm worried about."

"I don't follow," said Draco looking over. "Wouldn't you be glad to know she's back to normal?

"But she's never been _abnormal_, do you know what I mean?" Harry said, trying to communicate some urgency without being too loud. "She has always seemed in control and happy. I thought I didn't catch on to the addiction because I've been away, but I'm starting to wonder if she's just gotten too good at hiding things."

Draco frowned and looked back at Hermione. "You think? Granger's never seemed the type to have much of a poker face."

"Well, in the times you've seen her over the years, did she strike you as being someone who is heavily addicted to drugs?"

"No, I suppose not," Draco said.

"Exactly," Harry nodded. "And yet, when I cleaned out her flat this afternoon – "

"You did what?"

"I cleaned out her flat. I'm not letting her go home to a home full of pills when she's just overdosed. Anyway, there was a huge jar of them. Probably hundreds of pills."

"And the prescription papers?"

"All there," Harry confirmed. "Took them too."

"Does she know?"

"That I've cleaned it out? No."

Draco bit his cheek. "How do you think that's going to go over?"

"Like hell," Harry said. "But she hasn't really left me a choice. She goes to extremes to make it seem like everything's okay, and then she nearly dies of an overdose. I'm not going to lose her like that. I have to return to France tomorrow, and there's going to be no one to look after her. The least I can do is clear her flat of drugs."

Harry caught Draco's eye with an implicit question.

"Not a chance, Potter," Draco said, dismissing the request before Harry could voice it. "I'm not looking after her. Just because I brought her to the hospital doesn't mean I want to hover over her like a fucking vulture. Merlin, I barely know her, all said. This is the most I've seen her since school, and it's not like we got on well then either."

"You know her well enough, Malfoy. She trusts you now after what you did for her."

"That's shite. She doesn't and she shouldn't. I'm not some knight in shining armour. I'm still a Malfoy and she's still Gryffindor's bloody princess, even when she's high as a kite."

Harry looked frustrated. "Stop falling back on what the press says about you. She would be dead if you hadn't acted - that tells me you have some sort of moral compass."

"I saved her because it would have been inconvenient not to," Draco growled.

"Keep telling yourself that. You know as well as I do that she could use a watchful eye while she's sorting through this."

"Perhaps, but it's not going to be mine!" Draco snapped, a little loudly.

The sound cut through the din, and Hermione looked up from her work. A look of happy surprise spread across her face.

"Harry! When did you get here?"

"Just a moment ago, 'Mione," Harry said, putting on a calm expression as he walked across the room and planted a kiss on her cheek. "So Malfoy tells me you're his newest employee?"

"Yes, he's been very patient with me," she smiled.

"You didn't exactly give me a choice, Granger," Draco grumbled.

She rolled her eyes and stood up from her desk. "See Harry? Patient."

"Oh yes, patience is the first word that comes to mind," Harry said before turning towards the person sorting through a pile of envelopes. "Hello Blaise. Long time no see."

"Hello Harry," Blaise grinned. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Stop being so chummy, all of you," Draco snapped. "It's unnerving."

"War's over Draco," Hermione said in a sing-song voice, clearly trying to annoy him. "We can all be as friendly as we like. Pardon me gentlemen, but I'm going to run to the loo before Harry and I leave for dinner."

As she skipped away, Blaise sent a wolfish smile in Draco's direction and opened his mouth to tease him about the fact that Hermione was clearly sticking to his first name.

"Don't," Draco warned, shooting a fiery look at both men before stomping off into his office.

* * *

Hermione glanced over her shoulder before ducking into the washroom and locking the door behind her, casting a quick silencing charm in the process. The cheerful smile dropped off her face and she sunk to the floor. Moments ago she was strong, sure-footed, in control. Now every inch of her was shaking.

Her teeth chattered as she curled up into a ball on the cold tile, tears dripping out of her eyes and soaking into the grout. Heavy sobs echoed off the walls. Nausea coursed through her and she felt her stomach start to heave. The toilet was only five feet away - perhaps she could drag herself there in time.

The hopeful thought evaporated from her mind and she was suddenly on her knees, vomiting into the floor, her body shaking so hard she could barely stay upright. A strong chill ran though her body and she heaved again, emptying her stomach of everything she had forced down throughout the day. Disgusted with herself but too exhausted to stand, she mumbled a cleaning spell and pulled herself into the fetal position, crying quietly.

Last night had been fine. After reading up on Draco's business and arranging that article in the Prophet, she still had enough medicine in her system to keep her drowsy and let her get some rest. Today was another matter entirely. Today was the real start of the withdrawals, and they were proving to be infinitely worse than she expected.

It had been so hard, _so hard_ to fight the symptoms all day, especially with Blaise stopping by her desk every few seconds. She covered waves of nausea by hanging onto her chair and hiding her face behind a newspaper. She hid her shaking hands by keeping a heavy book handy, flipping the pages so nobody would see the tremors. The hot and cold flashes could be dealt with by zipping and unzipping her jumper, fanning herself occasionally with parchment. As far as she could tell, Blaise hadn't caught on, and Draco spent all his time brooding in the office anyway. The dizziness, well, there wasn't much she could do about that other than close her eyes and hope that it pass swiftly.

The worst of it was that this was an _improved_ version of what she could be going through. That potion from the hospital was supposed to be helping things, and frankly, Hermione couldn't begin to imagine how she could handle quitting her pills cold turkey without the vile liquid. How was she going to hold it together through an entire meal with Harry? He mustn't know how difficult this was... She had already hurt him enough with her careless actions, and worrying him with her withdrawal was a complete non-starter. She would simply have to be strong, put on the front she was so used to using.

It was going to be hell. It was _already_ hell.

She allowed herself one last sob before she forced herself to her feet with a deep breath, steadying herself at the sink and looking up. _Oh God_. Her reflection in the mirror was horrifying - red eyes, a stained jumper, pale as the dead. Thankfully there were spells to deal with all those things. She completed them, one by one, and forced her mouth into a smile before walking back out as if nothing had happened.

* * *

"Shall we, Harry?" said Hermione cheerfully as she walked back out into the main office area. He and Blaise were chatting amicably, but Draco was nowhere to be seen.

"Indeed we shall," Harry smiled, picking up her bag and checking that the cloak was inside. "Later Blaise."

"Later Harry," Blaise waved. "Have a good dinner Hermione. Thanks again for everything you did today."

"My pleasure," she smiled. "Will you say goodbye to Draco for me? I'll be in at the same time tomorrow."

"Sure thing," Blaise said. "I'll tell him once he's done brooding, anyway."

"You'll be waiting all night," she smirked. "Evening Blaise."

Hermione and Harry linked arms once they reached the street outside, wandering through the dying light on their way to a shortcut into Muggle London. The air was cool, but sky was clear and the cobblestones were mercifully dry after several straight days of damp and chilly weather. Hermione breathed in the fresh air with relief.

"So how was your day _really_," Harry asked with a cheeky smile. "I refuse to believe you managed the whole day without a major Malfoy incident, especially given what you sprang on the bloke."

"No major incident, honestly," she said. "Just the crankiness you might expect and the temper you probably remember. He spent most of the day pouting, I think."

Harry laughed. "Well, that's not surprising, I suppose. You saved his business and salvaged his reputation in a matter of hours, 'Mione. That's got to be a blow to his ego, even if he appreciates it."

Hermione shrugged. "I guess. I just want to help, even though he probably hates me for it. This was the best way to pay him back. He needs the business to survive. It's his only source of income after the Ministry froze all the Malfoy assets, and it had nearly run itself into the ground. I had to act... I'm not going to ignore a life debt, Harry."

"I'm not saying you should," he replied. "It's just a strange situation is all."

"I won't argue with that."

"So... Did you really obliviate the Healer?"

"She accepted bribe money!" she said, hotly. "He walked in there after having saved my life, and she treated him like dirt just for existing! It was pure hate! I saw it Harry, and I won't stand for it. That's the sort of behaviour we fought against in the War."

"Are you saying she deserved it?"

"Perhaps," she said.

"And the article? How exactly did you manage that in the competitive world of anti-Malfoy reporting?"

"The reporter owed me a big debt," she said. "Saved her life a couple times over during the Battle of Hogwarts. She was very young then, but always said she would pay me back when I needed something. Never thought I'd have to take her up on it, but it certainly was useful. Hopefully they'll let her publish something again... She had to sneak it in to get it to print."

"Well, the story was a real piece of work. You've got all of England turned on its head, Ron included."

"Ron can rot in hell," she said sharply. "I don't want to hear another word about him. As for the article, it needed to be done. Draco's unpleasant, but he doesn't deserve the treatment he's been getting all these years."

"Wait, that reminds me... Why are you calling him Draco now? It's really throwing him off. He looks like he's been slapped in the face every time you do it."

To Harry's surprise, an evil grin spread across Hermione's face. "It makes him listen," she whispered excitedly. "Every time I call him Malfoy, he tunes me out. I call him Draco, and he's so surprised that he shuts up."

Harry looked impressed. "That's actually quite clever. I was pretty worried about you, but it sounds like you've got everything figured out."

"I do," she said, earnestly. "Really. I've never felt better."

Harry squeezed her arm with his own and pecked her on the cheek. "So glad to hear it."


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_You totally delivered on reviews, so I'm totally delivering on another chapter. Now just in case you've forgotten, I'm not going to be posting over the weekend... I need the extra time to catch up on writing some of next week's chapters, especially given that my doggie emergency ate up what would otherwise have been time to make Lucius do naughty things. Yeah, you read right. Muahaha. HOWEVER, please review, and you'll have a shiny new chapter in your inbox on Monday (and I will have my dog back! woo!)._

_As an aside, don't kill me for ending on a giant fucking cliffie... I didn't plan it that way! For serious! Kisses! *ducks*_

* * *

Hermione apparated in the woods next to her building and threw on the cloak with a shudder. She could feel the cold sweat dripping down her body, slowly soaking through her clothes. It was ten at night but the reporters were still out, camped by the main doors, hoping to see something newsworthy.

"Fuckers," she whispered, resisting the urge to burst into tears right there. Dinner had been pure torture, sitting across from Harry and pretenting nothing was wrong when all she wanted to do was run back home and find her pills. At one point her feet trembled so hard the table shook and knocked over their glasses of water. She laughed it off, blaming it on an unsteady table leg, trying to ignore her clammy hands and mounting nausea as she mopped up the mess. By the end of the meal, her vision was swimming so violently it was a miracle she could even apparate without splinching herself.

She broke into a run, circling around the back of the building to use the basement entrance that was only meant for deliveries. Pain was starting to radiate through her body, as though she had bruised all her bones right down to her fingers. A whimper escaped her lips as she slipped through the old door, unseen by the reporters hovering on the other side of the building. Waiting for the lift seemed too risky, and too close to the main entrance anyway, so she ducked into the stairwell and began dragging herself up each flight until she reached the fourth floor, exhausted and barely able to stand by the end of it. She pulled the cloak tightly around her and leaned heavily on the wall, pushing herself slowly towards her door, one foot in front of the other, step by sluggish step. Door number forty-three. Plain brown with gold numbers. She could make it. She could do this.

Except she couldn't, not really. She knew why she wanted to get home so badly. Quitting cold turkey was an impossible idea. It was a charming lie, but it was going to kill her. She had been choking down the nasty liquid from the hospital diligently, taking it until she knew she had reached the maximum amount, and she still felt like she was drowning. No green medicine would help her now, but one pill would take away the edge. One pill, just one, to help her body calm down. It wasn't regression. It was sanity.

She reached her door and started crying with joy. Stumbling in like a drunk, she half ran, half crawled to the washroom to find her oasis: an old glass jar stuffed to the brim with pills. She opened the cupboard expectantly.

Outside, the group of reporters looked around, startled, when an anguished howl echoed in the distance.

"What the bloody hell was that?" said one.

"Animal in the woods, I reckon," said another. "Nothing to worry about."

Inside, Hermione sobbed on the floor. They were gone. All her pills were gone. _Fucking Harry_. What was he thinking, meddling in her affairs? Did he think she couldn't be trusted? All she wanted was _one_. One little pill to help her calm down. One little pill to lull her to sleep. One little pill.

Severe chills overtook her body and her teeth began to chatter, her lips nearly blue. Hermione sat up with great effort and began stripping off all her clothes, delirious with pain, moaning to herself and uttering every curse word she knew. Stretching her arm, she managed to turn on the shower, and hot, steamy water began to pour out of the pipe. Not feeling strong enough to stand, Hermione pulled herself into the bath and sat under the water, watching it swirl down the drain for an hour until the tap ran cold, shivering all the while.

Life with drugs had nearly killed her, but life without drugs suddenly seemed worse.

* * *

Draco walked up the the front step of Trebax and let himself in. It was 7 a.m., uncommonly early for him to be awake, let alone at work. It was worth it though. There seemed to be fewer reporters out at this hour, and he had managed to escape his building without having to stun anyone. A strong cup of tea and some breakfast would wake him up properly, and by the time Granger and Blaise arrived, he'd be nearly functional.

_Granger_. He had dreamed about her again. It became clear after he had woken up for the fourth time that she was occupying his thoughts with alarming intensity, saturating his brain like water to a sponge. He could tell himself he didn't care about how she was doing, but his mind strongly disagreed. He was worried. It was stupid, but true. Worried Harry had been right when he said she was hiding things from everyone. Worried about what she would do once she got home and found that Harry had removed her pills. Worried he'd find her in the woods again, dead by her own hand. He was worried about someone he used to hate and it was _driving him bloody mental_. The only other people he ever worried about were his parents. It simply wasn't something he did. Concern was for the weak. Malfoys didn't engage in such activities.

"Get out of my head, woman," he muttered as he made him way up the old stone steps to the second floor. She probably wouldn't be in for another couple of hours. That was plenty of time to whip his brain into shape and prepare for whatever crazy plan she had readied for the day. Hadn't she mentioned something about a press conference? That would take all his patience, not to mention a glass of Firewhiskey for good measure. God he hated reporters.

Draco marched over the threshold at top speed and then froze.

Hermione was at her desk, her head resting on a book, fast asleep. Draco exhaled cautiously and walked quietly towards her, taking in the strange sight. Her clothes were rumpled and damp. Her hair was mostly wet, dry only at the tips and curling in all directions. She had dark circles around her eyes and her fingernails had been chewed down to the quick. Quiet whimpers escaped her lips. Tear tracks stained her cheeks. Lips cracked and dry from chewing at them nervously. She looked completely unguarded, almost ghostlike, vulnerable and raw. Nothing like how she was in public. Nothing like how she would probably be if she knew she was being watched.

Something funny twitched in his chest. Draco came to an uncomfortable realization.

Harry had been right. Bloody hell, the tosser has been right. The truth was right in front of him: she was so good at pretending that nobody knew what was going on beneath the surface. The "public" Hermione was in many ways the same girl he'd known at Hogwarts. Smart. Confident. Together. The same one who marched into his office yesterday and turned his business around. Everyone, including Harry, Blaise and the Weasel, saw that version of her. The invincible Hermione Granger, War hero, the one who collapses from exhaustion rather than drugs. And why shouldn't they believe it? She covered up her problems masterfully, even managing to hide a raging addiction for _years_ from her loved ones. If she hadn't overdosed, they would have been none the wiser.

But here she was, obviously struggling. A hidden mess. How long had she been sleeping here? Why were her clothes wet and her hair damp? What had happened after her dinner the night before? Clearly, all was not well, but Draco knew the game would continue. Maybe she didn't want to seem weak, or maybe she didn't want to trouble anyone with her problems, but either way, the dark parts of her life were kept under lock and key. Draco wondered for a moment if she simply needed to be told: You're allowed to hurt when your fiance fucks off on you. You're allowed to hurt when your parents disappear. You're allowed to seek help when you need it.

Trouble was that Draco completely understood where she was coming from. He knew all about pretending. He was exceptionally good at it. Blaise and his parents knew him better than anyone else, and yet he still chose to hide things from them. His problems were his own and he wanted to keep it that way. He and Granger had far more in common than he liked.

Perhaps because of that, he wasn't in the mood to blow her cover right now.

Draco backed out of the room silently and tip toed down the stone stairs, letting himself out of the building. Maybe there was no need to be at the office this early after all. He could grab some food at a cafe, something with a booth for privacy, and catch up on some work. Hopefully she would be up by 9 a.m., because Blaise was nothing if not punctual. They would manage the day's chores then.

In the meantime, he had to come to terms with the fact that the stakes had changed. The Hermione who was asleep at the Trebax offices was fragile, extremely so, and she was wearing herself down by trying to hide it. If Draco wanted her to stay alive, both for the sake of his business and the sake of his conscience, he would have to monitor her. The irony wasn't lost on him - he had snapped at Harry for making the very same suggestion - but that was before he had solid proof of her condition. It wouldn't do to have her crumble now. She needed a watchful eye, and since nobody else could fill the role, he would provide it as best he could. Blaise didn't need to know, and Harry sure as hell didn't need to know... Draco refused to give Wonder Boy the satisfaction. His mission now was to keep her safe while also keeping quiet about it.

_Merlin's balls,_ this was going to be inconvenient.

* * *

Two hours later on the dot, Draco stormed up the cobblestone street that lead to his office, snarling at anyone who got in his way. Why did he even bother to hope that he'd be able to have a quiet breakfast somewhere? What a naive expectation. He'd managed to find a small cafe and settled in, ready to kill some time with work and food, maybe get Granger off his brain for once. That's when the stupidity began.

News of Hermione's rescue was everywhere now, and with that news came the salivating masses hoping to catch a glimpse of their newest hero. His table was mobbed. First came the requests for autographs, which he staunchly refused to give, hoping that if he was firm, he'd be left alone. Then came the women, some alone, some in packs, slathered in make-up and batting their eyes in the most irritating manner. He was so hard up for a fuck that he almost considered it, but he couldn't get past the phoniness of it all. He'd rather wank himself in the middle of the cafe than be taken for a fool by some witch hoping to get famous. What a joke. Just when he had finally scared everyone off, using some choice words that were certainly not befitting of a supposed hero, the reporters showed up. That was it. Clearly he wasn't going to be left alone. He tossed a few coins on the table and left, elbowing a chap from Witch Weekly in the jaw when he looked like he might be close to blocking the exit.

It was amazing, wasn't it? The same people who would have left his family to die were now ready to kiss his feet. What utter madness. It was attention he had lusted after for years, but now that he had it, it only made him angry. Opportunists, the lot of them. Is this what Potter had to deal with? No small wonder why he had run away to France.

With a grateful sigh, Draco slipped into the front door of Trebax, taking two stairs at a time to get the fuck away from the street. He realized as he climbed that despite the disaster at the cafe, he did manage one thing: he hadn't been focused on Hermione at all, too preoccupied with his escape. Now that he was back, he had no idea what he might find. Was she awake? Had Blaise arrived? Was she still a fragile mess, recovering from whatever hell she had endured overnight? Shite, he hadn't really prepared himself for what state she might be in. He stepped over the threshold cautiously, slightly out of breath, still simmering a bit from the anger coursing through his veins.

"Morning Draco," said Hermione. "You look flustered. Everything okay?"

He stared. She had changed her clothes, now outfitted in a smart dress shirt and tweed skirt. Her hair was done up in a loose ponytail, the frayed curls he'd seen earlier that day were now shiny and soft. The face that was deathly pale only two hours earlier now had a healthy glow. The tear tracks were gone. The air smelled faintly of magnolia. It looked like nothing had happened, like the ghost he saw that morning didn't exist at all.

_Faker_, he thought, although without much venom. Even with what he knew, she was still a more pleasant sight than those sycophants at the cafe. She gave him an encouraging smile. His heart did a weird fluttery thing. He made a mental note to get that checked out.

"I hate people," he said hoarsely, not wanting to explain his morning beyond that.

"I'm shocked," she responded with a straight face.

He rolled his eyes at her flippancy, and then looked at her suspiciously, trying to find evidence that he hadn't imagined what he saw this morning. What was she using... Glamour charms? Was she living on Pepper-Up Potion? She didn't even look tired. _Fuck_ she was good. His grouchiness returned tenfold, and he walked briskly into his office, hoping for a moment of silence to gather his thoughts. How was he supposed to keep an eye on her when she covered her tracks so well? Would he even know if she relapsed? Would he be able to tell if she even fed herself?

"Morning sunshine," said Blaise, who was in the process of dropping off a stack of documents on his desk.

Draco groaned and threw himself down in his chair, covering his eyes with his hands. Then there was the issue of Blaise wanting to shag Granger against every piece of furniture in the office. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

"Please, try not to look so happy to see me," Blaise pouted. "Hermione has some good news for you. She was already here when I arrived, working away. Bloody brilliant, that girl. Couldn't believe the news when she told me, but then she showed me the numbers. Want to hear it?"

"Hear what?" he grimaced, only half listening, his head starting to ache. Blaise was right smitten with her wasn't he? Hermione this and Hermione that. If only he knew what lurked beneath. She wasn't some bimbo witch with an ancestral account at Gringott's, which was Blaise's usual poison. She was a closet recovering junkie with trust issues. A genius, but a total disaster. Maybe Draco could put a tracking device on her... Have it alert him when she went anywhere near a Muggle pharmacy. Would that even work?

"To hear that you're officially out of debt," Hermione said, walking into his office. "I confirmed enough orders this morning to cover everything you owe, and then a bit extra."

The noise in Draco's head went quiet. His eyes met hers. "I'm sorry?" he said, convinced he had misheard. There was no way she had said what he thought. Simply no way.

"You're out of debt," she said. "Congratulations!"

There was a long silence as Draco processed the information.

"Granger..." he said slowly. "You've been working here for one day."

"I realize that," she said.

"One day," he said again, raising up his finger for emphasis, "And you've gotten the business out of debt. Do you know how much debt we were carrying yesterday morning?"

"Enough to make your lenders mighty unpleasant," she said, cheerfully. "Anyway, they won't bother you anymore. You got so many advance orders and loan pardons that you're back to a clean slate. The debt was one of my goals, so I'm relieved that's met. After the press conference I'll get working on the rest of them."

Draco stared. "Dare I ask what your other goals are?" he said, warily, the shock from the good news still sinking in. He could scarcely believe it. That meant he'd never be harassed by a creditor again. That meant he could finally send proper money to his parents.

"Oh, predictable things," she shrugged. "Refreshing the brand. Aligning us with charities. I've started moving some of those files along. The only one I haven't had any luck with is how Stacey McLorrow stole those plans, but I'll figure it out eventually."

Blaise growled at the memory of the incident.

Draco simply blinked. Out of debt? Really? Fuck, if it was true, she could do anything she wanted with the business. Go ahead and align them with every charity on the planet. He didn't care. He was out of debt.

"I think we should leave Draco to think about the news, Hermione," Blaise said, observing his friend. "I'm going to go grab a bite. Do you two want anything?"

Hermione shook her head and Draco blinked again.

"Okay..." Blaise said, shooting a look of mild concern at Draco. "I'll be back soon." He left Draco's office, and Hermione followed, glancing back towards Draco over her shoulder.

Draco sat in the empty office. Out of debt. Sweet Merlin, he was out of debt. As much as he might have wished for this, he never really expected it to happen. Blaise was always the optimist. Draco expected catastrophic failure.

But it had happened. That unstable, slightly insane woman he'd taunted for years had made it happen.

Out of debt.

Draco stood up, and in a couple of long strides, was hovering in front of Hermione's desk. She looked up, her quill still moving. "Blaise left already," she said. "He won't be but a few minutes, I'm sure."

With another long stride, Draco walked around the desk to where she was sitting, hauled her up by her arm, and hugged her tightly.

She gasped in surprise, arms hanging limply by her side. He didn't care. He didn't care if she hugged him back or if she was repulsed. He was out of debt.

"Granger, I don't know how to thank you," he said, his voice unexpectedly thick with emotion.

"Um, you saved my life," she said. Her voice was quite muffled, since her face was being crushed into his chest. "That's thanks enough."

"It's not enough," he said, shaking his head.

"It is, actually," she said, still muffled.

"Stop arguing. Let me do more. Let me pay you a salary."

"Maybe once everything has stabilized," she said, tilting her head up and taking a deep breath of air. "We'll talk about it in a month or so. But yes, you saving my life is enough. This is me trying to thank you, remember."

He squeezed her one last time and then let her go, slightly embarrassed at his emotional display. He hadn't planned on hugging her when he walked out here. He had only planned on thanking her. Now he was breathing in magnolia and remembering the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest, her waist pressed against his stomach, her soft hair tickling his chin. He had felt those things, and he wasn't going to be able to forget them. _Fuck_.

She blushed and cleared her throat.

"I've got to go back to my office," he said, awkwardly. "I have very important things to do."

"Right," she said.

He practically dove through the entry and slammed the door behind him. Jesus, why did he do that? Why did he have to hug her? Where the hell did that come from? Aside from pecking his mother on the cheek when he went to visit, he had been completely bereft of genuine female contact since Pansy ran off to Russia.

But Granger? He had hugged her. Willingly. Pulled her out of her chair to do it, in fact. _Fuck_.

She must be completely freaked out. He had to apologize. Frantically, he jumped back out of his chair and rushed towards the door, throwing it open and stepping into the main room, already rattling through potential explanations in his head.

Except that when he looked up, he knew something was very wrong.


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Well, it's nearly midnight and I can't sleep to save my life. Let's resolve that cliffie a wee bit early, shall we? In this chapter, Draco falls a little deeper, and Blaise starts to notice. Please review like mad and you'll have another shiny new chapter on Tuesday! I don't want to do too much hinting, but things really start to move in this week's instalments (Boy in the Hammock fans... I'm winking suggestively at you). _

_In other news, my dog is home. He's got some pretty nasty-looking stitches in his neck, he smells like a hospital and he's woozy from drugs, but at least I can lavish him in attention now. Thank you for all your kind wishes for his recovery - it means a lot. xo_

* * *

The Hermione from ten seconds earlier was gone. When he ran off after hugging her, she was normal. Healthy. Upright.

Now she was still standing, but barely, leaning heavily against the desk. Pained, sharp breaths echoed against the walls, her arms shaking at the effort it took to hold her up, her face pale as a ghost. Her body swayed dangerously, and to Draco's horror, he saw her eyes roll back in her head right as her body began to tip over. He rushed forwards as her hands slid off the desk, managing to grab her before she hit the ground, wrapping his arms around her waist and he pulling her towards him. Right back into the crushing hug he had regretted only moments earlier. This time, though, she was limp in his arms.

"Granger?" he said, panicked. "Are you alright?"

She was gasping for breath, her eyes out of focus, blinking fuzzily. Her entire body was shaking against his. Beads of sweat marked her brow. _Goddamnit_, this girl was going to kill herself if she wasn't careful.

"Granger! Say something or I'm taking you back to the hospital."

"No!" she gasped. "No, please, I'm fine. I'm just... I'm just tired."

"Bullshit!" he said angrily, tightening his hold. He tried to get her to look him in the eye, but she still couldn't keep her vision straight. "You're ill. You need help." _Stop hiding_, he wanted to say. _I'm onto you._ But he didn't. He wasn't ready to bring that down on her. Not yet.

"I didn't sleep well Draco," she mumbled. "I forgot to eat breakfast. I'm just a little lightheaded."

"Do you often lose consciousness from sleeping badly?" he snapped. "This is serious, Granger."

"I know it is," she said, her voice pleading now. "Just let me deal with it, okay? Please. I'm dealing with it." Her eyes were fixed on his now, and they were filling up with tears. "Please don't take me to the hospital," she whispered. "I'm going to be fine. I just need to splash some water on my face."

He glared at her. It was a blatant lie, but he still wasn't ready to call her out on it. If she needed a little more time, he could grant it... But he'd be watching her like a hawk. How often did these episodes happen? How had she been covering them up? Was she back on drugs? Was she dying?

"Draco?" she said, searching his face. "Can I just go to the washroom?"

With a gruff nod, he loosened his hold. She swayed and he tightened his arms again. "I'll walk you there," he muttered. "Apparently you're too _tired_ to stand unassisted." She blushed deeply but didn't resist as he supported her weight and wrapped her arm over his shoulder. They walked together awkwardly until they reached the door. She grabbed the frame and stood on her own, still red with embarrassment.

"Thanks. I'm okay from here."

"Whatever," he said. He knew he sounded angry, but damnit, he _was_ angry. She was jeopardizing her health by keeping everything secret, by trying to deal with it herself. What if she had passed out and hit her head on something? What if this had happened in the woods? What if nobody found her in time?

The washroom door clicked shut, and he stomped back to his desk. The glee from discovering that he was debt free was dulled now, as though it were a distant memory. Once again, Granger was occupying his brain.

"I spend too much time worrying about her," he grumbled to himself.

"Worrying about who?" said Blaise, who was walking in with a bag of food.

"My mother," he covered, quickly.

"Well, you'll have a lot less to worry about now that you've stopped hemorrhaging money. You can sent some proper coin to your folks. Hermione's a fucking angel, I'm telling you."

"Yeah," he said with a weak smile. "Angel. So what'd you get?"

"Scone for me, breakfast sandwich for you," he said. "Figured you'd want some food, but Hermione didn't say she needed anything. Where's the golden girl, by the way?"

"Loo," he said, taking the sandwich. He would give it to Hermione when she got out. Merlin knew when her next meal would be.

"Okay, well we should talk about the press conference after we eat," said Blaise. "You're going to have to announce that because Hermione is too heartbroken to return to her Ministry job, you've decided to hire her because you're such a generous and empathetic gent."

"You must be fucking kidding me!" Draco exclaimed. "Nobody's going to buy that shite!"

Blaise chuckled in response. "Take it up with Granger. She's got it all scripted. Says it's the last step in making the public like you again."

"They like me fine now! She's already taken care of it!"

"She says she wants it cemented," Blaise shrugged. "Like I told you, take it up with her. I'm not going to argue with the girl - you might have noticed that she's a little stubborn."

"My ears are burning," said Hermione strolled into the office, looking like nothing happened. Glowing skin. Glossy hair. Hundred watt smile. This time, however, Draco could see that she was nervous.

"Hello princess," Blaise said with a suave grin.

"Can I speak to you alone, _princess_?" Draco seethed. Clearly sensing the tension, Blaise held up his hands in surrender and left the office.

Hermione shuffled her feet, looking awkwardly at the ground. Draco glared at her and then said a quick silencing spell to keep Blaise from listening in.

"Okay Granger, here's the deal. You tell me what's going on with you, and I will participate in your farce of a press conference."

"What?" she said, looking up in shock. "You're bribing me with my own private affairs?"

"Your private affairs almost killed you before, and I need to know they're not going to kill you again."

"Draco, please don't - "

"I'm not kidding, Granger," he threatened. "Don't you try and 'Draco please' your way out of this. You're working for me, right? Paying off a life debt?" He felt dirty working her over like this, but he didn't see a lot of options. "Look, you've been a huge help so far. I'd like you to keep working here, and believe me, I never thought I'd utter that phrase. But the thing is, I also need to know that I'm not going to find you half-dead in the woods again. Give me something to ease my mind. I don't need to know every detail, but just talk to me. Is it the pills?"

Hermione looked defeated, her eyes welling up with tears.

"It's the withdrawal," she said, quietly.

Draco frowned. "I thought the hospital gave you something for that."

"It's not strong enough, I guess," she said, wiping her cheeks. "Maybe it takes the edge off, but I'm still not faring all that well. The stress doesn't help either, given that I'm not able to resort to my former... Uh... Coping methods."

"Right," he said, uncomfortably. "How often do those episodes happen?" He was trying to sound understanding, but so far he just sounded impatient.

"Maybe once an hour now?" she ventured a guess. "They've actually been getting worse. Part of the process, I guess."

"What?" Draco said. "That's madness! You should be recovering then, not working!"

"Please don't tell me to go home!" she said, suddenly panicked, rushing towards him. "I can't handle it there. I'm doing so much better here. There's no bad memories here, no pills, lots of distraction, no Ron..."

"Speaking of Weasley, I'm actually surprised the tosser hasn't come by begging for your forgiveness," Draco said, trying to ignore how close she was.

"That's because I put a ward around the building," she said, suddenly looking a bit guilty.

Draco stared for a moment, and then burst into laughter. "That's amazing, Granger," he snorted. "You put a ward around the building? What happens when he comes into contact with it?"

"Uh, he breaks out in hives," she said, uncomfortably, fidgeting with her hands. Draco only laughed harder. Eventually she cracked a cautious smile.

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," he said, wiping his eyes. "I'm very impressed. Okay, I'll do your stupid press conference, although I don't know why you want to feed the machine even more. I thought you didn't like the pity routine."

"I don't," she shrugged. "But it will help the business, which gives it some purpose, I suppose. Honestly, the press conference will be straightforward. We announce officially that I'm employed here, we plug the brooms, I'll reiterate how grateful I am to you - " Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me! Anyway, we'll pander to the press a bit and it will be all done. Then we can get on with regular business stuff."

"Fine. Just give me the script and I'll follow your lead."

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you. And you won't mention...?"

"No, I'm not mentioning your issues to anyone. I just don't want you collapsing on me is all."

"I appreciate it," she said. "The press conference is in two hours. I'm going to go prepare, okay?"

"Okay Granger. Oh, I nearly forgot..." He picked up the breakfast sandwich, realizing self-consciously that he was treading into dangerous territory. This whole encounter was getting downright friendly. He shoved the sandwich roughly into her hands. "So you don't pass out," he said, trying to sound as indifferent as he could.

With a surprised smile, she accepted. "That's very... Thoughtful. Thank you."

He shrugged. "It's in my best interest to keep you fed."

"Right," she said, walking towards the door. "By the way, you'll need to practice something for the press conference so you don't slip up."

"Oh?" he said.

She disappeared around the corner, yelling out over her shoulder. "You're going to have to call me Hermione."

* * *

Draco paced behind the curtain separating him from the crowds of reporters on the other side. He was starting to regret agreeing to this.

"Granger!" he barked for the second time in the past thirty seconds. "Why are we holding this bloody press conference again?"

"So the public can see how thoughtful and charming you are," she said, rolling her eyes. "It would help if you played the part."

"Maybe I don't want to play the part," he growled.

"You gave me your word," she said, calmly, walking over to fix his collar. "It will take five minutes, remember? We're simply making an official announcement of my employment with Trebax. I want tomorrow's papers filled with pictures of us looking happy and in control." He opened his mouth to make a snide remark and she silenced him with a look. "Quiet," she said. "The reality of our respective mental and emotional states is not important right now."

"Oh?" he said. "We're just going to perpetuate a lie? This coming from the virtuous Gryffindor princess?"

"You're just in a bad mood because you're going to have to play nice," she said, ignoring his jibe. "Be sweet for the next half hour or so. It won't kill you. Think of something motivating. What about your parents? They'll benefit from this, right?"

That shut him up. Yes, his parents would benefit hugely from the business being on a stable footing. Fucking know-it-all. "Whatever Granger," he muttered.

"It's Hermione for the purposes of this press conference," she corrected. She peeked out from behind the curtain to get a look at the crowd. "My goodness, there certainly are a lot of them," she said, her voice suddenly quiet.

The change in tone caught Draco's attention, and he looked at her more carefully. She was biting her lip, her eyes darting around to assess which reporters had turned up. His eyes slid down to her hands. They were shaking.

"Gra - ugh, Hermione," he said, walking towards her and pulling her away from the curtain. "Sorry, I know I'm being crusty. The press hasn't exactly been kind to me. It has been said that I hold a bit of a grudge."

"It's okay... I understand," she smiled, hiding her hands behind her back. He looked at her with concern.

"You going to be okay out there?" he said. Why he was always so worried about her was beyond him. She hadn't even been in his mental radar until a few days ago, and now he was fretting about her trembling hands. _God_ he was turning into a fucking _flower_.

She nodded with a little too much enthusiasm. "Oh yes, just fine. Hoping we don't get too many curve balls from the reporters, but not much I can do about that."

"You mean... Ugly questions about the Weasel?"

"I suppose," she shrugged. "I want to keep things more or less on track, but they are bound to be curious."

"Well, you could always tell them how awful he was in the sack," he joked.

She laughed and then smacked him light-heartedly on the shoulder. "Now how did you know about that?" she said, grinning.

"You're not serious," he smirked, hoping very much that she was serious.

"I'll never tell," she replied. "I'm going to run to the loo before we start. I'll be back in a moment."

The second she disappeared from the area, Draco heard someone clear their throat. He spun around. "Merlin Blaise, you took me by surprise," he said, noticing that Blaise had an odd expression on his face. "Is there a problem?"

Blaise was wearing a curious smile. Draco didn't like it. "Mate, how long have we known each other?" Blaise asked.

"Since we were eight... Why?"

"How long have we known Granger?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Care to tell me why you're asking me questions you already know the answer to?"

"Well... It's just that I've been standing here for several minutes. Not only did neither of you notice me, but I also caught a glimpse of how you interact with our pretty friend."

"And?" Draco said, feeling his defences rise.

"Nothing, nothing," Blaise said, feigning disinterest.

"Speak up," Draco snapped, losing patience now. "How do I interact with her?"

"Let's just say you have a surprisingly good rapport considering that you used to actively dislike one another."

"Oh?"

"Shockingly good."

"And?"

"She fixed your collar."

"It was crooked."

"And you might have been flirting a bit."

"Bull."

"And you actually seemed a bit protective of her."

"I don't have to listen to this nonsense," Draco grumbled, turning away. "Honestly Blaise, what a load of - "

"Drake... I'm not saying it's a bad thing!" Blaise said, catching up with him. "It's good. You actually get along quite well. She knows how to manage your awful moods, and you know how to look out for her. It's good. You'll make good... Colleagues. Very good colleagues."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Seriously mate, there's no issue here. Just an observation," said Blaise.

Draco nodded. "Fine. We have a good rapport. Anything else then?" He wanted to finish this conversation before Blaise accused him of anything else. _Protective_. Wasn't an employer allowed to be concerned about the health of his employee?

"Nope. Nothing strange going on here at all."

"Good," Draco growled, turning away from his friend. Now where was Granger?

* * *

Hermione chugged back the cap-full of green liquid and winced.

"Yuck," she said, stowing the bottle back in her pocket. With relief, the shaking in her hands subsided. _Good_. If she could just get past the withdrawals, she'd be home free. Now that she had come clean to Draco about the fact that she was struggling, she felt much calmer. At least someone knew she was having trouble. For whatever reason, it made things easier. Hiding her life from the world was incredibly exhausting, and besides, he had seen her at her very worst. It was fitting to confide in him, as unlikely a choice as he might seem.

The pills still occupied much of her thoughts, and she was dreading going back home this evening, but she couldn't let herself think about that now. Now was the time to move forward. The stresses that had nudged her towards dependency were gone from her life - Ron was history, she had changed jobs for something surprisingly rewarding and interesting, she had finally spent some time with Harry... Overall, things were looking up. She'd even made new friends. Well, Blaise was a new friend. Befriending Draco was a bit like befriending a schizophrenic manticore. Great when they are on your side, but unpleasant as hell when they are in a bad mood.

He was always in a bad mood.

Perhaps she could work on getting him to be cheerful more often. Society as a whole would thank her. He had joked around with her once already today - that was an improvement, wasn't it? He could actually be quite funny when he wasn't thinking of creative ways to dismember people.

Hermione took several deep breaths and tried to center her thoughts.

_I don't need my pills to function._

_I don't need my pills to function._

_I don't need my pills to function_.

She grimaced into the mirror. This felt silly. She _did_ need her pills to function... She just didn't _want_ to need them. There was a difference. Drugs always felt like a shameful sign of weakness to her, but they also helped her stay strong. A dichotomy. An operational contradiction.

At least she could focus on one positive thing: for the first time in a long time, her emotions had stabilized to the point where she didn't necessarily feel the need to numb them.

If she could just keep this up until the drugs were out of her system, she'd be home free.


	9. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_HAHAHA. I just realized something hilarious. Well, hilarious in a bad way. I'm going to be traveling outside the country next week... Except that I won't have my laptop with me and there's a good chance I won't be anywhere near a computer unless I'm in an airport on a layover. So now I have to figure out how to add new chapters from my phone, because too much juicy stuff happens next week to leave you hanging. DAMNIT, my planning is total crap! Total crap!_

_Anyways. By the end of this chapter, I hope you'll be as excited as I am for the return of one of our favourite scheming ladies. Please review, because tomorrow's chapter is FUCKING BAMFY. xo_

* * *

_Protective_. What a load of codswallop. Draco was brooding on the corner of the small platform, trying to ignore the flashing of bulbs and the crowd of reporters shouting out questions to him. Why in Merlin's name did he let Hermione talk him into this again? He _hated_ this shite.

"Try not to look like you want to murder them all," Hermione whispered, a cheery smile plastered on her face as she stood next to him.

"But I do want to murder them all," he whispered back, smirking.

"Does plotting their deaths make you happy?" she asked, a serious expression on her face.

He thought about it and then nodded.

"Well knock yourself out then," she said. "Smile away. I don't want any pictures of you brooding in the papers tomorrow."

He snorted with amusement. As much as Blaise's comment rattled him, his friend did make a good point about their rapport. His conversations with Hermione contained just the right amount of sarcastic wit to keep him amused.

"You know, you're really quite good at all this stuff Granger," Draco said as he watched Blaise test out the podium. "Where'd you learn it all?"

"It's Hermione, for goodness sakes," she chastised. "And let's just say I have a fair amount of experience in image management. I can make things look good on the outside. Had lots of practice over the years."

Blaise gave them the sign that everything was ready to go, and Hermione gave Draco a bright smile. "Shall we?" she said.

"You lead, I follow," he said. She chuckled. "But don't get used to it!" he clarified. They walked to the podium together and Hermione stepped up on a wooden box to reach the microphone.

"Aw, Granger can't reach the mic!" he whispered, smiling like an idiot for the cameras. "How endearing."

"Call me Granger near a microphone again and I'll murder you myself," she replied, flashing a grin at the crowd. "Now stick to the script."

"Hello everyone!" she said, loudly, waving to get the room's attention. "Thank you so much for joining us. This will be a short press conference, but we wanted to share the good news with your ourselves."

"Yes, thank you for coming," Draco said, slipping comfortably into his role as the confident public speaker. He might hate everyone here, but he was a Malfoy, damnit, and he knew how to work a crowd. "I'm sure you're all familiar with the sequence of events that have brought us here today. You'll be pleased to know that Hermione has made a full recovery from her harrowing ordeal."

Polite clapping broke out in the crowd, and Hermione nodded her acknowledgement gratefully.

"I certainly have, thanks to you Draco," she said. For a split second he was tempted to mime throwing up onto the floor, but he decided that he would rather not die by Hermione's wrath in front of so many people. As if she could read his thoughts, she discreetly elbowed him in the ribs. "But we aren't here today to talk about Draco's heroic deed, or at least not the one that involved saving my life. We are here to announce that I have accepted a position with Trebax Brooms, a world-class company run by Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini."

More applause from the audience. Draco noted with relief that they seemed to be eating up the cheesy script, and hoped that with a bit of luck, they could be done here in minutes.

"When Hermione explained to me that she didn't feel comfortable going back to her former place of work for reasons that shall go unmentioned - " Draco paused for dramatic effect, letting everyone understand that Ron-fucking-Weasley was the unmentionable - "I was more than happy to offer her a position within the company. We are certain that her enthusiasm will help Trebax grow into an even more dynamic organization. She is a bright, driven, courageous woman and we are lucky to have her." He had added that last bit in himself for good measure. Hermione sent him an approving grin.

"Are there any questions?" Hermione asked. A dozen hands were raised, asking all manner of things, some relating to brooms, but most relating to Draco's heroic rescue. They responded as best they could without wading too deeply into the self-congratulatory muck. Neither of them had much of a stomach for it.

"Weren't you two enemies in school?" shouted someone.

"Enemies is a strong word," Draco said. "There was some natural house rivalry, and we certainly weren't chummy, but we've both grown up since then... Isn't that right Hermione?"

"Certainly is, Draco," she said, playing it up. He looked at her with amusement. If he didn't know how she had been coping with stress and pressure over the years, he'd assume she was just a natural at this stuff. She seemed completely confident and at ease.

"Have you spoken to Ron Weasley since the incident?" shouted one reporter after the bulk of questions was out of the way. Hermione frowned, but shared a look with Draco to let him know she could handle it.

"I haven't, nor do I plan to," she said. "I'm happy to leave that part of my life behind me."

"What are you going to do with the ring?" shrieked another. Draco looked at Hermione uncomfortably. One question was fine, but he didn't want this to turn into a frenzy. Hermione didn't need the stress.

"I sent it back in the post," she answered, calmly. "Now if that's everything, that will be the end of - "

"Were you aware that Mr. Weasley has proposed to Miss Stacey McLorrow this morning?" said a voice. A petite woman with short black hair stepped out of the crowd, a look of cunning mischief on her face. "With your ring," she added.

The crowd gasped, and Draco saw Hermione go white as a sheet. She gripped the podium to stop her body from swaying. Alarmed, Draco placed his hand on the small of her back. Stacey McLorrow? From Rowhouse Brooms? The one who stole their plans? That fucking bitch!

"Granger," he whispered, his lips accidentally brushing her ear. "I think we should cut this short."

"I was not aware of that," she said into the mic, her voice small now. Draco felt her sway again beneath his hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. "But I wish them the best," Hermione said, forcing an artificial smile onto her face.

"Good save," he murmured, pulling Hermione away from the mic. Flash bulbs went off like a lightening storm and Draco supported Hermione heavily as they walked off the platform and back behind the curtain.

"Blaise, could you fend them off please?" Draco asked his friend as Hermione sunk more deeply against him.

"Gladly," Blaise growled, walking back out to charm the press as best he could.

"Let's get you out of here," Draco said, looking at the shaking girl in his arms. When she didn't respond, Draco turned on the spot and arrived with a CRACK at the front door of Trebax, Hermione pressed tightly against his chest.

* * *

"I didn't know they were dating," Hermione said numbly as he dragged her up the stairs towards the main space.

"They probably weren't 'dating' in the traditional sense of the word, Granger," Draco said, pulling her into his office and setting her down in a comfortable chair.

"I didn't know they were shagging, then," she murmured. "But I guess I didn't really know about half the women he was shagging."

"He's a tosser. You're better off without him." Draco would say anything at this point to make her feel better... Even the truth. He could see how quickly she was fading and it was starting to scare him. It was this sort of stress caused her addiction in the first place. Without the pills, would she be able to cope? _Goddamnit_ when did he become so fucking _worried_ about her?

"Maybe I didn't know him that well after all," she said, sadly. "The Ron I thought I knew would never have done this."

"He's a fucking git," Draco replied, looking through his desk drawers for something to occupy her mind. "That's all you need to know." He handed her the Hogwarts paperweight in the interim. She fiddled with it. "I think Blaise has some crisps or something in the cupboard. Give me a sec."

She gave him a soft smile. "You can be awfully nice, you know." Something funny twinged in his chest. It had been happening more and more lately. He should really see a Healer about that.

The smile melted off her face as quickly as it had come, and tears began to well up in her eyes. Her hands began to shake, and she dropped the paperweight with a pained gasp. Draco picked it up and placed it on his desk. He had to get her off this train of thought. The withdrawals had started again.

"Hang on, Granger. I'll be right back."

Draco closed his office door behind him and walked out into the main space, running his hands roughly through his hair. Sweet Merlin, that had turned into a right disaster. It would be hard to convince him that this whole circus was worth Hermione's mental stability, no matter how the press spun this. She had been trying to help him out, and now she was getting an emotional lashing. Worst of all, it had happened at a _media event_ of all places. Now they would all be reporting on this fucking soap opera until the cows came home.

"God, Weasley is such an imbecile," he muttered, rifling through the cupboard to find some food for Hermione. A tap of his wand and a cup of hot tea assembled itself on the counter. Maybe this would help. He had to keep her occupied, or something ugly was going to happen.

A loud CRACK echoed outside of the building and Draco spun around. That had better be Blaise. He heard someone open the door and walk up the steps. As a precaution, he raised his wand. If Weasley had somehow gotten past the wards, he would happily correct the error right here. It would almost be worth the time in Azkaban.

The sounds of tapping feet against the stone made him hesitate. The visitor certainly didn't walk like a man. In fact, it sounded like the visitor was wearing heels.

Not only that, but they were humming an eerie little tune he recognized from his childhood.

"Put your wand down, Draco," said a female voice.

"Mother?" he said, his mouth dropping open with surprise.

Narcissa stepped into the light. She was dressed the part of the Malfoy matriarch, all in black, a long lacy dress with full sleeves and pointy black boots. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face, but trailed most of the way down her back. Her lips were blood red, as were her nails. One disapproving frown, and she would look as threatening as the papers said she was. Cold. Ruthless. Uncaring. She played that card very well, having long since perfected the look that came with belonging to a family like hers.

Here, however, with only her son watching, she could allow herself a smile. After all, it seemed their fortunes had changed since the last time they spoke.

Draco wrapped her in a tight hug, trying to remember the last time he had seen her outside of the Manor. It had probably been years. She hadn't been faring well in the crumbling house, growing more and more anxious about their financial situation as time passed. Now though, she looked radiant, as though her confidence had never left.

"You look good darling," she said, squeezing his hand.

"So do you," he said. "How is father? And Queenie?"

"Both excellent," she smiled.

"Glad to hear it. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" His question was tinged with a bit of worry. He hadn't told his parents anything about the events of the past couple of days, preferring instead to wait until things had settled down to break the news, whatever the news ended up being. The chances of them finding out from the press were low - they had stopped reading the papers years ago because of the constant criticism, not to mention the fact that they were isolated from everyone who might be tempted to gossip. He had been counting on that fact to buy him time. Perhaps that had been too optimistic.

"Don't fret, Draco," she replied, picking up on his concern. "It's funny, actually... We've gone years being shunned by the world, not a peep from our old colleagues, and two days ago we start to get inundated with post by our well-meaning former friends. I haven't seen that many owls on the horizon since before the War."

_Damn_. So his parents did know what was going on, or at least the version in the newspapers. He really didn't want to get into an argument right now... Not while Hermione was in the other room. He would have to move this along quickly.

"What did these colleagues have to say, mother?" he asked, knowing the answer full well, dread building in his stomach.

"It seems they have some concerns about the object of your heroism," she replied. "The Granger girl."

"I see," he said, deciding to keep his response simple. He still couldn't get a clear enough handle on her mood. Was he about to be disowned? She didn't seem upset with him, but then again, he didn't want to assume anything. He needed to be ready for whatever was coming his way.

Odd that she was referring to them as "former" friends, though.

She smiled, and for the first time, he noticed the fire in her eyes. "Interesting, isn't it? Our former friends seem to think that it would be better to end up destitute, unable to afford food or shelter, begging on the street, rather than help someone in need who happens to be Muggle-born."

Draco stared. Was she implying what she seemed to be implying? His mother was smart, sometimes terrifyingly so. She wasn't going to phrase something like that unintentionally. He swallowed heavily, waiting for her to continue.

"Imagine the shame, a Malfoy saving someone who isn't of our blood status," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Someone who would die without help. It seems that our colleagues believe there is no greater transgression, that you have insulted all those who came before you with this one heroic act."

His eyebrows rose. So Narcissa was angry, a quiet kind of anger that right now seemed much more dangerous than an outright tantrum. Miraculously, none of the venom was directed towards him, nor towards Hermione. In fact, Narcissa seemed livid at the characters who slithered out of the woodwork to criticize her son. It was their mistake, and it was a big one. Draco knew how scary his mother could be when she was like this. All her brilliance and cunning became a focused beam of destruction, intent on some form of retribution.

Judging by the look on her face, she would have it.

Now that he thought about it, his mother's "former" friends had actually done him a favour. Not only had they broken the news, but they'd also made Narcissa instantly protective of Draco's actions. He could use that to his advantage.

"What are your... Impressions... About what you've heard?" he asked, testing the waters. Granted, he had been worried about his parents' reaction to the situation, but it occurred to him that he had something important working in his favour. Malfoys protected their own, and they did it _fiercely_. If they looked favourably on Hermione for saving their family name and the business, her blood status may actually be a non-issue.

Could that really happen?

"What I've gathered from all the helpful correspondence I've received is that you saved the life of a young woman who desperately needed your help. She in turn has worked to improve the reputation of our family in the press, and is now helping revive the business that keeps us all afloat. It also seems that she is doing this despite the fact that we have not been... Hospitable to her in the past. Is this information correct?"

"It is, and I'll only add that after working here a day, she has also managed to pull Trebax out of debt."

Narcissa's eyes widened dramatically. "Are you serious?"

"I am," he responded.

She appeared to consider the information. "Well then, my only response would be to ask when I can meet her to thank her in person."

"Funny you should mention meeting her," he said, suddenly remembering the state Hermione was in when he left her. "She's in my office, but this may not be the best time for introductions."

"Oh?" she said. "Is she feeling unwell?"

"You could say that," he responded, uncomfortably. He didn't want to keep anything from his mother, but he had no intention of breaking Hermione's trust either.

A loud crash interrupted him, and Draco's stomach dropped. "Granger," he breathed before running over to the closed door, Narcissa directly behind him. He threw it open and looked around.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen. There was shattered glass all over the floor, Draco's corner cabinet was now broken with a door hanging off its hinge.

"Fuck!" Draco growled, stalking through the space. "Goddamnit, it's like taking care of a fucking tornado. I swear to Merlin, Granger..." He ran his hands through his hair again, his mind racing. He shouldn't have left her alone for so long. He should have been more careful, especially with the news she had received at the press conference. After finally deciding to try and keep her safe, he was already failing.

"What happened here?" Narcissa asked, her eyes traveling around the room, taking everything in. "Where's the girl? Why is the cabinet broken?"

Draco clenched his teeth. He had to tread carefully. His mother was far too smart to believe a bad lie, and he was too upset to lie well.

"She's gone," he said, rubbing his temples. "The cabinet is broken because she needed something out of it, and she had to get through my security spells to do it."

Narcissa looked at him, gathering much more information from his mannerisms than most people would. Her son was extremely worried, all his nervous habits coming out in full force. The pacing, the clenched fists, the veins showing along his neck... Did the Granger girl really inspire this kind of response in him? If so, it would be the first time she'd ever seen him be this serious about looking after someone's safety. Malfoys very rarely cared about anyone unless they were family. It was a well-documented fact.

"What did she take out of the cabinet, Draco?"

"She took the Firewhiskey," he sighed. It was the truth. The large bottle was gone, and from what he could see, it was the only thing missing. It seemed Hermione had decided against coping without substances after all.

"And why would she take that?" Narcissa asked. Really, the question was a formality. Narcissa Malfoy was a champion at reading between the lines.

"Mother, I don't want to lie to you, so I'm just going to say that I'm not at liberty to explain. I've made a promise to Granger. I'm sorry."

Narcissa frowned at her son and then looked back over to the pile of broken glass. Choosing to protect the girl over telling his own mother? Now _that_ was interesting.

"Of course. I understand."

"Really? You're okay with that?" he said, relieved and anxious all at once. Hermione's whereabouts were already weighing on his mind. His mother's quick acceptance of the situation was odd, but not worth dwelling on.

"I would not ask you to betray a confidence, darling," she responded. "I will meet Miss Granger another time."

"Thank you for understanding, mother," he said with a grateful smile, hoping to usher her out quickly.

"Perhaps you can come by the Manor sometime soon. I'll send you an owl," she said before kissing his lightly on the cheek. "I should go - I have some important errands to run before I return home."

"Of course," he said, puzzled as to what errands she might have to do. Leaving the Manor was strange enough, but being seen in public was not something he expected her to do.

"Mother," he said, a concern popping into his mind just as she turned to leave. "Does father share your views? On Granger I mean?"

Narcissa looked back with a sweet smile. "He will," she said, simply.


	10. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Darlings, I bring you an entire chapter of Narcissa. Is there really anything more to say? Please review... I'm staying up late to write another chapter for you tonight and I would love your comments to keep me company. xo_

_PS, I might've figured something out for next week... Thank you for all your suggestions!_

* * *

Narcissa stepped out of the Trebax headquarters and pulled on a black cloak with a hood that covered her hair. She had a lot to get done in a short amount of time, and the fewer interruptions from people who recognized her, the better. With the sharp echo of her heels against the cobblestones, she took off at a brisk pace down the lane.

It had been an interesting few days, to say the least. The horrifying descent of the years since the War was halted and flipped on its head after that article in the Prophet, and as a result, everything changed in a matter of minutes. She had previously resigned herself to the likelihood that she and Lucius would soon be pushed out of the Manor, forced to rely on some sort of charitable service to survive. They had a few contingency plans in place, each more depressing than the last. Poverty was a new experience for her, and it was one that came with hard lessons. Equally so for Lucius. They had tried to be resilient, but they had quite literally begun to go hungry every evening. She had resorted to stealing supplies from the back room of a nearby Muggle grocer. Humility tasted like canned goods and stale bread.

It was not the poverty, however, that really rattled her following the War - it was the sudden disappearance of everyone they knew. Most of their social circle had fled the country, the rest had gone underground, and they were all laying as low as possible. Living life quietly. Staying out of the public eye.

Everyone except the Malfoys.

How did it happen that her family was the one singled out to take the brunt of the public's blame for the War? She wished she knew. The Macnairs, the Lestranges, the Dolohovs, the Carrows, the Rosiers... All heavily implicated, all extremely active, and in many cases, much more deadly. But only the Malfoys were publicly torn to shreds. Everyone else faded away, avoiding Narcissa's attempts at correspondence, and when things got really bad, turning down her requests for financial assistance. Most of them she hadn't heard from since the Final Battle.

Until now, of course. Until Draco saved Hermione Granger's life. And then, only to express their disappointment. Draco had failed their Pureblooded expectations, even in a post-War climate where blood status should be the last thing on anyone's mind. Hadn't they all learned?

After reading those letters, Narcissa decided that it was time to clarify her loyalties. The Malfoys had always had strong connections with Dark magic and had a central role in supporting Voldemort throughout his first and second rise to power. That was true. Historically, they were proud of their Pureblooded status, and lived their lives accordingly. That was true too. They had also been courted by the prospect of said power, a weakness that went back for generations, deep in the ancestral roots of both the Malfoy and the Black families. All true. Power had an appeal that tended to warp even the sharpest minds, and prejudice was easier than questioning one's beliefs.

But the motivating factor in all of this had always been _family_. What would keep them strong and resilient? What would guarantee the family line? Malfoys were infamously protective, and they had hedged their chances for growth and survival with the Dark Lord. As more and more of the old families died out over the years, they identified Voldemort as an opportunity to stay relevant.

It had been a drastic error in judgement. She could see that now.

Still, without Voldemort hanging over their heads, the motivating factor had never gone away. _Family_. How to keep them safe and strong, how to make sure there would be Malfoys for generations to come. Apparently the answer was not in aligning themselves with power-hungry maniacs and their Pureblood supremacist supporters. These were not loyal people. She had learned the hard way how little they cared for her family when times got tough. The Malfoys were on the verge of being wiped out for good, their blood status more of a liability than a blessing.

And then, as though the universe decided to humble them all, in walked their chance at salvation. Someone they had taught their son to hate. Someone they had watched be tortured in their own home. In she walked, free of the judgement she was certainly entitled to, and turned their fortunes around. Hermione Granger had somehow shaped Draco, a boy who might well have grown up to be a monster, into an unlikely hero. Narcissa would be forever grateful for it, and noted with equal interest that Draco seemed to have developed some protective instincts for the girl. It was surprising and unsurprising at the same time. Malfoys always protected their own. Whether or not she wanted it, Hermione Granger had become one of them. Draco saved her, and she had returned the favour. It was a bond that granted her the same privileges as a blood relation.

Narcissa wasn't bothered. If Hermione had reached that status in the eyes of her son, then she would be granted the same status with her. Hermione probably didn't realize it, but to Narcissa, her and Lucius's lives had been saved by extension.

Which brought her to her current situation. Narcissa ducked into an alley and disapparated before anyone could slow her down. She had reason to suspect the girl was in trouble, and since Draco wasn't going to tell her what was going on, she would simply have to find out for herself. Why force him to break a confidence when she had a skill-set of alternatives? These weren't the sorts of things that noble Gryffindors carried around in their bags of tricks. This was Slytherin cunning, longing to stretch its legs, happy to be broken out for a worthy cause.

She reappeared on a small path in a winding garden. To her left, an old stone hospital sat, its residents completely unprepared for a determined visitor in need of some answers.

* * *

Martha Bothwick, a nurse at St. Mungo's and Healer-in-training, was taking her lunch break outside the stone building where she worked. It had been a tiring shift so far and she was grateful for the reprise. There were only so many ridiculous magical accidents one could deal with in one day before wondering about the general intelligence level of the population.

Out of the corner of her eye, there was a flicker of movement, and she looked over to see what it was. _How odd_. Just a lilac bush. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Must have imagined it. She went back to her sandwich, deciding that the lack of sleep must be affecting her worse than she thought.

An eerie little melody reached her ears and she looked around again for the source. Was there a staff member out walking? Or a patient enjoying some fresh air? Very strange that she couldn't see anyone, since the voice sounded so close. Perhaps her senses were playing tricks on her. She shivered as a cool breeze blew past.

"Bloody weird day," she muttered. "I could use a good long nap."

Suddenly, a face appeared in front of her, a beautiful woman with white-blonde hair and perfect high cheekbones. Her lips were blood red. Martha dropped her sandwich in shock.

"I can help with that," said the woman.

"Aren't you...?"

Martha tipped over onto the bench, unconscious.

Calmly, Narcissa removed a flask from her robes, plucked a hair from Martha's head, and dropped it in. The mixture started to bubble and froth.

"Perfect," said Narcissa, looking at the flask with satisfaction. "You'll do just fine." She sipped the liquid and waited. Ten seconds later, she was no longer Narcissa Malfoy... She was Martha Bothwick. Studying the sleeping woman, Narcissa adjusted her clothing to look more like the robes worn by the medical staff. It didn't need to be perfect, it just needed to buy her enough time to get what she needed. As a safety measure, she pulled Martha's security card off her robe pocket, noting the information for future reference.

With a flick of her wand, Martha's body was lifted and deposited on the soft, mossy ground behind the lilac bush.

"Sleep tight, Martha," Narcissa said, strolling through the main doors. "I won't be long."

* * *

"Back so soon?" smiled a woman behind the main desk. "You're a total workaholic, darling. You only left five minutes ago."

"Guilty as charged," smiled Narcissa, who was still getting used to the feel of Martha's facial structure as she talked. Her eyes travelled around the space, noting details she might have overlooked the times she'd come here as a patient. What she needed to find were the records, probably off in a storage room somewhere. She glanced at the woman's name tag. Susanne.

"Susanne?" she said, making her voice sound as sweet and bubbly as she could. It didn't come easily.

"Yes sugar?" smiled the woman without looking up from the envelope she was scribbling on with an old quill.

"Apparently there are some old medical files relating to one of my patients. Might help figuring out what they've got. I'm going to go have a look."

Susanne looked up, surprised. "You mean the Smythe boy? With that funny rash?"

"That's the one," Narcissa smiled. _Sure. Whatever you say_.

"Hm. Thought it was his first visit here, but if it will help, you should definitely check. You know where to go." The woman tilted her head down the hall with a friendly wink.

"Of course," said Narcissa. "See you soon."

She strolled down the hallway with practiced ease, remembering the last time she was here. It wasn't a pleasant memory. Lucius had fractured his wrist and punctured his vein falling off one of the horses at the Manor, back before they sold them for cash. The Healer refused to give him treatment. Narcissa had to break out the Imperio to get the job done, and then wiped the old man's mind.

This time, she had the upper hand. This time, she didn't look like a Malfoy. She looked like Plain Jane Martha, someone who responded to the pet name "sugar." _Ridiculous_.

All the rooms she was passing were equipped with beds, so she continued to walk, hoping she'd be able to find what she was looking for. In one room she spotted a young woman in a full body cast. In another, a young boy covered in red spots.

"Must be Smythe," she murmured, noting the miserable expression on the child's face. She resisted the urge to smirk. Healers were probably not supposed to find amusement in the afflictions of their patients. A pity, really. Nobody had a sense of humour anymore.

Finally she reached a door that simply said 114. It was at the near end of the hall, so if this wasn't it, she was going to have to start rooting around in people's minds for the answers she needed. That was always such messy work, and she hoped to avoid it. Lifting her pass up to the blue security square above the handle, she was pleased when she heard a cheery "beep" and then the sound of the door unlocking. She slipped inside.

_Jackpot_. It was a dark, musty room, filled to the brim with aging filing cabinets.

"Accio Hermione Granger's file," she said. Nothing happened. _Damn security features_. It was as if they didn't trust anyone around here.

With a sigh, she began to follow the alphabet with her finger, wandering up and down the rows until the reached the "GR - GU" section of the shelves. Opening it up, she sorted through the folders until she saw the name she wanted. Hermione Granger. Out came the file. Narcissa began to read, her forehead creasing as the flipped each page. Muggle pharmaceuticals? Overdose? Oh dear. This was not what she expected.

"Heavy addiction."

"Inability to cope with stress."

"Damage done to liver and nerves."

"Insomnia."

_Ah_. It was starting to make sense now. Didn't Draco find her collapsed somewhere after her fiance's affair was exposed? The article claimed it was due to exhaustion, but now that she thought about it, the excuse seemed a little precious. Drug overdose was really much more fitting, especially with the over-achieving personality she associated with the girl. It was always the Type A ones who fell the hardest. The ones who seemed to have it all together. Narcissa knew the signs all too well.

"Informed client that irreparable damage would be done to her system if she does not stop abusing the painkillers."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Blah blah blah," she muttered to herself. "Do they really think people want to hear that tripe when they are recovering from an overdose? Imbeciles." She scanned the last page to see what they had given her for treatment. Her eyebrows shot up. "Greenswith potion? What sort of a weak-minded dunce would prescribe something so mild for such a strong addiction?" She closed the file abruptly and slid it back into the drawer, a much clearer picture starting to form in her mind about what was going on with Hermione. It seemed she would have to complete one more task before leaving this Godforsaken building.

Whistling her favourite melody, Narcissa slipped back out of the room and took the stairs up to the second floor. After a few minutes of searching, she found the door she needed. _Laboratory_.

She walked in quietly and assessed the scene. Two medical staff were working at a bench full of bubbling cauldrons. They had their backs turned to her, but would no doubt look in a moment to see who entered.

It would really be much easier if they didn't turn around at all. Less trouble that way.

Both workers dropped to the ground, unconscious. Narcissa smiled and locked the door behind her. A quick look at the supply cabinet told her she was in luck. The potion she needed to make wasn't difficult, but it was sometimes hard to find the ingredients. Thank Merlin for fully-stocked hospitals.

Half an hour later, a woman who looked like Martha Bothwick exited one of the lesser-used side doors of St. Mungo's, stowing a bottle in her robes. Narcissa took another sip of the Polyjuice potion, knowing that the remainder of her chores would be easier to accomplish if she wasn't attracting attention everywhere she went. Before disapparating, she ducked behind the lilac bush and slipped into the real Martha's mind, making sure the young woman would have no recollection of the pale face she saw right before she passed out.

"You'll wake up soon, _sugar_," she whispered. "I hope you'll feel extremely well-rested."

* * *

Narcissa looked up at the building where both her son and Hermione lived. She was curious if the girl was there, but decided against snooping around to check. Draco seemed worried enough to take care of that investigation himself, and besides, Hermione was bound to be in quite a state at this point. Narcissa's presence would only complicate things.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, wanting to make sure proper safety mechanisms were in place to guarantee that Hermione and Draco wouldn't be in danger while they sorted out their problems. Just a quick scan to see if any precautions had been taken. Focusing all her powers, she opened her eyes and looked at the building again.

A musical laugh escaped her throat.

Wards _everywhere_. Red ones circling the entrance. Blue ones at certain windows. Huge green ones surrounding the building. A thin purple one that was particularly nasty. Was that reserved for the Weasley boy? If so, she quite approved of this girl's sense of revenge. This building had Hermione's Granger's handiwork all over it.

"I'll just make one small adaptation," Narcissa said, smiling to herself. She adjusted the ward that kept the journalists several feet away from the main entrance, believing it to be too kind for such a nasty group of gossips. Just a small change. Nothing too awful. Not in her opinion, anyway.

With a satisfied smirk, Narcissa prepared for her final task of the evening. A quick stop at the Trebax offices and then it was back to the Manor for her. Lucius was bound to be curious about how her evening went, and Merlin, did she ever have some interesting news for him.

* * *

Lucius's senses tingled when he heard a familiar pop of apparition off in the distance. He glanced out his study window to see a plain woman with mousy brown hair walking up the path towards the main door. Frowning, he wrapped his fingers around his wand, inspecting the intruder. People didn't tend to visit the Manor - they tended to run away. It seemed he would have to teach this stranger the rules of the house.

The intruder began to hum an eerie little tune.

His shoulders relaxed. _Narcissa_. Why on earth did she look like _that_? She had left on a mission for information hours ago. Coming back looking like someone else entirely was not a good sign. In fact, her robes looked vaguely like the ones worn by hospital staff at St. Mungo's. His frown deepened. Narcissa had a history of mischief and manipulation that almost exceeded his own. This was bound to be interesting.

By the time Narcissa reached his study, her features were her own again. She opened the door humming, her face impassive but a definite sparkle in her eyes.

"What of the girl?" Lucius said, brusquely, not wanting to waste any time. She could fill him in on the reasons behind the disguise later.

"She is as we expected, and then some," Narcissa said, calmly.

"And her motives for helping our son?"

"As noble as any Gryffindor," she responded, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "She is changing public opinion as a way of thanking him for saving her. She's also rescued the business, and by extension, us."

Lucius grumbled. While he was overwhelmingly relieved to hear that the nightmare they had been living was over, he was reluctant to lavish praise on the one responsible. Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio, brightest witch of her age, and the bane of his bloody existence while he was hunting Harry Potter. The Muggle-born who bested Draco in every subject during school. One of the children - _children_ - who had brought down his former master. It was hard to leave that mindset, no matter the reason. Grudges took time to fade.

He observed his wife. She looked dangerously smug.

"There's something else, isn't there," he stated.

She nodded.

"Go on then," he said, sounding annoyed. Lucius was not the type to fish for answers; he wanted all the information up front. Patience was not a virtue he was particularly good with. Narcissa knew that, of course, but she was toying with him.

"Well, underneath her noble Gryffindor exterior lies something very interesting," she responded.

"Which would be...?"

"An astounding amount of Slytherin cunning."

Lucius's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"She has also inspired a rather odd reaction in our son," she said, keeping her voice as neutral as she could. Narcissa was sold on Hermione, but Lucius would require some work to get him past his old beliefs. She might as well plant the seed in his head now. He had no choice but to come around eventually.

"What reaction would that be?" Lucius asked, suspiciously.

"He has become extremely protective of her," she said, letting her words sink in.

There was a long silence.

"That seems... Unlikely," Lucius replied.

"Unlikely, but very much the case. I witnessed it myself."

He frowned, his eyes becoming unfocused as he ruminated on what this might mean. Surely not. Not after what his family had endured, what they had stood for, what they had symbolized... Surely the universe wouldn't have such a cutting sense of humour.

"But Malfoys only protect their own," said Lucius, in a tone that, in any other circumstance, would have ended the discussion.

"Interesting, isn't it?" said Narcissa, pleased that he was responding exactly how she had hoped. She would let the information stew now, swirling in his mind until he came to the same conclusion that she came to earlier.

"There's more," Narcissa said. "I'll tell you about it over dinner. I think you'll find her situation quite intriguing, if not bizarrely familiar."


	11. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hahaha, you guys love yourselves some BAMFY Narcissa. Excellent. But what was that? You're craving some Dramione now? Ooooooh, no problem. _

_Shit gets real tomorrow, so pretty please review. Oh! And my dog is humping the furniture again, so I think he's getting back to normal! So awesome! Get down with your bad self, little dude! xoxo_

* * *

Draco apparated at the edge of the forest next to his building, his face drawn and angry. This day was trying his patience. Actually, it had already tried his patience, chewed it up, spat it out, and was trying it again. He was at his wits' end, and he was _this close_ to wringing someone's neck.

After his mother left, he cleaned up the broken glass and tried to formulate a plan in a futile attempt to be rational about the situation, taking deep breaths and speaking calmly to the empty room about how she was _probably fine_. It was just Firewhiskey. Yes, one could overdose on the stuff, but the chances of her staying conscious long enough to ingest that amount were slim. She was _probably fine_. No need to panic.

He didn't even manage to fool the peeling paint, and he certainly didn't manage to stop himself from panicking.

The truth was that there wasn't a bone in his body that wanted to be rational about this. What he _wanted_ to do was charge off into the lane and look in every single dwelling until he found her. The weird fluttering he had been feeling in his chest was morphing into a strong, thumping hum and it would not rest while she was in risk of danger.

The trouble was, of course, that charging off into the lane would be insane. In fact, everything he wanted to do relating to Hermione was insane. Since the night of the rescue, strange feelings had been building inside of him, feelings he couldn't for the life of him understand. After all, Malfoys were famous for their emotional restraint - it's what made them _Malfoys_. Exclusive, cold, distant. A very convenient caricature in a post-War climate. Unfortunately, it was a stereotype that, for once, rang true. Malfoys didn't go out of the way for anyone unless they were bound by blood or marriage. They had more acquaintances than real friends. They could answer to authority if it worked in the favour of the family, and not for any other reason. They didn't play well with others. He had been told about this tendency since he was a child: Malfoys were blessed with money, power, and a rabid desire to protect one's own.

Money and power weren't constants, as evidenced by the aftermath of the War. The desire to protect one's own? Very much alive.

But Hermione was not his. She wasn't even close to his. She would never be his, and he had never wanted her to be. Yet, he still wanted to keep her safe, despite how irrational the instinct was. She was a Muggle-born, a bookworm, a junkie, and he was at her fucking beck and call, whether or not she had figured it out. What was happening to him? Harry Potter wanted to keep everyone safe. Not Draco Malfoy. Not when it came to Hermione Granger.

Until now, anyway.

After an hour of pacing in the office, babbling like he was off his rocker, he gave up fighting his instincts. If his stupid brain wanted him to tear up London looking for her, so be it. The first place he checked was her flat. She didn't answer the door and he did a quick spell to see if anyone was inside. Negative. Fine. She was getting plastered elsewhere, trying to forget her problems. Fair enough.

Next he tried nearly every building in the Alley, every goddamn cafe, every fucking library, the Ministry, St. Mungo's, Gringotts, every musty bookstore he could think of... Four hours of searching that yielded nothing but open stares and requests for his autograph. He was shaking with anger and worry when he finally disapparated back home. She could be dead by now. She could be _fucking dead,_ blitzing her system with more Firewhiskey than it could handle and passing out somewhere unmarked. She had done it before, and she could do it again.

So here he was, standing at the edge of the woods, staring at the clunky old building. Should he start combing the forest, or try her flat one more time? He bit his lip, not liking either choice.

_Hold on_. Something wasn't right. Where was the press?

He blinked and stared at the entrance again. Was he imagining things? There had been at least one reporter camped outside his building for as long as he had lived here, and at least twenty in the past few days. Where did they all go? He looked harder, willing his eyes to work. Surely they were there. They had to be.

But the entrance was truly deserted.

Forgetting the woods for a moment, Draco stalked up to the building, his long legs taking him there in almost no time. Clearly something wasn't right here. He would check her flat first.

He threw open the main doors, getting tenser with every step. A groan echoed through the small lobby, and his head snapped over to the source. A man's body lay on the ground next to the directory list. Draco could only see his feet, the rest hidden by a cheap vinyl bench. He walked over, unsure of what he would find.

His jaw dropped and then quickly reformed into a snarl. That red hair was uncomfortably familiar. Draco's voice came out as a guttural growl.

"Weasley, you fucking worthless piece of rubbish, you'd better have an amazing excuse for being in this building, because I am not feeling generous right now."

Ron groaned again, and then turned over so Draco could see his face. Draco grimaced. He was covered in painful-looking boils, every inch of his face and all down his neck. Even his hands were covered. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, his lips puffy.

"Trying... To find... Hermione," he said, his words mumbled because of the swelling.

"You have no business finding her," Draco snapped. "She doesn't want to be found by you."

"You think... She wants... You to find her? A Malfoy?" Ron responded. Draco could see the corners of his mouth lifting in what would have been a sneer under different circumstances.

Draco stared hard at the man on the ground. Something amazing was happening inside him. The fluttering in his chest had first become a hum, and now the hum was becoming something else entirely. It felt like there was a dragon roaring under his ribs, bristling at the sheer nerve of the filth who used to call Hermione his own. This tosser needed to be taught a lesson.

It was tiring, resisting these funny instincts.

Perhaps he would just stop.

Yes, that's what he would do. Stop resisting.

Draco grabbed Ron by the collar and dragged him out of the building, Ron literally kicking and screaming the whole way. Draco didn't care. The dragon inside of his chest was giving him strength. Ron's boils were going down the further they got from the entrance. By the time they had reached the forest, he looked nearly normal. Draco dragged him into the trees, a dark smile on his face. Ron's wand was stashed in Draco's pocket now, well out of the imbecile's reach. He flexed his fingers, circling Ron like a beast of prey.

"I think we need to have a chat, Weasley," said Draco, feeling more in his element than he had in years. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to use violence to solve his problems. One little exception to his record since the War should be acceptable, especially given the situation.

Ron was rubbing his skin with relief, while at the same time looking anxiously at Draco. The agression that was emanating from the blond was unnerving. And where the fuck was his wand? He patted his pockets irritably.

"I don't want to chat, Malfoy," he snapped. "I want to talk to Hermione."

"Why?" said Draco. "She's not yours anymore. From what I hear, you are happily engaged."

Embarrassment coloured Ron's face. "Yeah, well... I guess I wanted to talk to her about that. See how she feels about the news."

"She doesn't care," Draco said, knowing it wasn't entirely true.

"How the fuck would you know?" Ron said, angrily.

"She told me. I was with her when she found out."

"You seem to be with her an awful lot, Malfoy," Ron said, suspiciously.

"I'm her boss," he said, shrugging.

"Is that all? You sure? You don't seem the type to give a damn about anyone but yourself, and yet, here we are. I'm curious, Malfoy... Are you hoping to be something more?"

Draco was surprised at how hard it was to keep his face impassive. He didn't want to be something more. He _didn't_. But then... He also wanted to flip over every table in magical England to make sure she wasn't hurt. Those two sentiments didn't make much sense when put together.

He decided not to dwell on it.

"No Weasley, I don't want to be something more," he replied. "Stop projecting."

"Whatever," Ron shrugged. "You know she would never have you anyway, Malfoy. You're a murdering, cold-blooded bastard. She probably just feels sorry for you, helping you out like this."

Draco twitched. He knew the words weren't true, but they inspired a fleeting sense of panic in him anyway. Too many contradictory feelings inside one body. It was making him jumpy.

"Believe what you want," Draco said, his voice misleadingly calm. "But keep away from the building. Hermione isn't there."

"There's no way you could know that," Ron scoffed. "You wouldn't even be able to get onto her floor. Wards are too strong. She only lets me and Harry through. Well, Harry now, I guess."

"Don't be stupid Weasley," Draco snorted. "I was at her flat earlier and I'm going back now."

Ron stared, seeming to be truly speechless for the first time.

"She... She gave you access?"

"Yeah. What of it?" Draco said, as Ron's dumbfounded expression started to sink in. He had just assumed he'd be able to go check on her. He hadn't considered any wards.

She must have adjusted them to allow him through.

The dragon soared in his chest.

"I can't believe that!" Ron yelled, his face reddening with anger. "Do you know how long it took for her to give me access? Six bloody months! Her own boyfriend! Six months!"

"It's not like you gave her much reason to trust you, you fucking tosspot! What, did you think she was stupid?" Draco yelled back, beginning to wonder why he was bothering to speak with this cretin at all. He could be using this time to find Hermione. "You screwed around behind her back for Merlin knows how long. You were an emotional black hole, as far as I can tell. Can't really fault her for being cautious, can you?"

Ron frowned, a look of mistaken comprehension dawning on his face. "Wait a minute... Are you shagging her?"

"Am I _what_?" Draco frowned. "How did you come to that brilliant conclusion?"

"Listen to how you're talking about her! Since when did you become her guard dog? This is someone you used to hate, Malfoy. Remember the names you used to call her? Remember wishing that she was dead? Now you're her big defender? So yeah, I want to know... Are you fucking shagging her?"

Draco stared openly at Ron. "I think you might actually be as stupid as you look, Weasley. That's impressive, even for you."

Ron narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You are, aren't you! You bloody bastard! I'm going to kill you!"

With a broken cry, Ron dove towards Draco, but Draco was much too quick for him. He stepped out of the way, guided by the warm feeling in his chest. He had Hermione's trust. Ron couldn't touch him. Nobody could touch him. And come to think of it, he wouldn't mind a small reward for all the stupidity he had been dealing with lately.

That small reward was going to be breaking several of Ron's bones.

Ron fell to the ground, landing with a thud on the leaves. Draco then levelled a clean, sharp kick to Ron's ribs, exposed as he flailed around, trying to get up. CRUNCH, CRUNCH. Two ribs broken! It must be his lucky day. Draco smiled to himself and stepped back slightly to watch Ron gasp for breath, clutching his side.

"Weasley, I think it's only fair for you to know something," Draco said, beginning to circle the man again. The next bone would have to be a bigger one. Ribs were so delicate, weren't they? Draco had never been a very delicate fighter. Calculating, yes, but not delicate. "I don't want you to say I didn't warn you."

He lunged forward and grabbed Ron's arm, wrenching it behind his back as Ron screamed in pain. The socket separated, unintentional, but convenient. Ron screamed again. He pulled the hysterical man towards a sturdy tree and brought him close enough to scratch Ron's face against the bark.

"I'm not shagging Hermione," he whispered into Ron's ear, right before he shoved Ron into the tree at a slight angle. He heard Ron's collarbone snap, and pulled him back abruptly.

"But I will kill you if you hurt her again," he finished, throwing Ron to the ground. "I will stretch it out, make you beg for mercy, and then once I've tired of it, I'll kill you. That's not a threat, Weasley. That's a promise. Now skulk back to your fiance and stay away from Hermione. You blew it."

Draco turned on his heel and began the slow walk back to the apartment complex. A satisfied warmth was spreading through his limbs. He didn't credit his Death Eater training for much, but thank Merlin he had learned how to fight. There was nothing those murderous nutters liked more than a good old-fashioned rumble until the ground was slick with blood. Weasley's broken bones were _nothing_ in comparison. They were the violent equivalent of a pity fuck.

Now to find Hermione.

"You haven't even realized it, have you?" Ron yelled from where he was lying, his voice gasping and pitched higher than usual from the pain. "You've fallen in love with her!"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around slowly.

"You're mental," he said as calmly as he could. "She needs my help. I'm protecting her." Protection suddenly seemed like a very mild word compared with that other one. Protection. Protection. Protection. Easy.

"Same fucking difference," said Ron. "Have fun explaining that one to the parents. Your dad will probably skin her alive. He's nothing but a monster, just like you."

Draco blinked. The dragon was gnashing its teeth. His fingers tightened around his wand, anger coaching him to do something drastic just to shut Ron up.

It occurred to him that if he murdered Ron right now, he might jeopardize his ability to go check up on Hermione.

_Bother._

A blast of red light knocked Ron unconscious, and Draco lowered his hand. He pulled Ron's wand out of his pocket and tossed it over, not wanting to keep any evidence on him. After a moment's pause, he spat at Ron's feet.

"I'm not convinced you're much of an authority on love, Weasley," Draco said to the body on the ground. "So how about you shut your mouth."

Slightly shaken, Draco turned back around and walked back up the hill, determined not to be distracted again.

* * *

The lift to Hermione's flat seemed aggravatingly slow. Draco clenched his jaw with frustration as it squeaked up each level. The annoying "ping" that came with each passing floor was grating on his nerves, and he briefly wondered if he could forgo the formalities and try apparating outside her door. Best not, perhaps, given her fondness for harmful wards. There was no telling where he would end up.

As he continued his sluggish upwards trajectory, Ron's accusation bounced around in his mind. _Love_. What an insane suggestion. That tosser didn't know jack about what Draco was feeling. Besides, he was missing the point. This had nothing to do with love. It was about a baser instinct: for some reason Draco had become a bit protective about Hermione. He had fought the suggestion before, but he could admit it now. It was pretty hard to refute at this point. For whatever reason, he felt an itching need to make sure she was safe. Personality-wise, of course, she was the furthest thing from a damsel in distress. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Still, none of this meant he was in love with her. Christ almighty. He just wanted to know he wasn't going to find her dead in the woods. _Different fucking things, Weasley_.

The lift doors opened and he stepped out, half expecting to be blown out the window from some errant ward designed to keep visitors away. Nothing happened. Just as before, he was able to walk right up to her door. He raised his hand to knock, praying that she was there this time. If she wasn't, he was officially out of ideas. That meant he would have every reason to bring his search to the Ministry. He would get every Auror in London looking for her until she was found.

The door opened before he could even touch the wood.

His breath caught in his throat. He knew that charm. It recognized expected visitors. That meant she was home. That meant she wanted him to come in.

He raced in, blinking in the darkness. "Granger? Are you here?"

The layout was similar to that of his own flat, and he ran through the small rooms, checking the kitchen, living room and bedroom in a few quick strides.

A sniffling sound came from the closed door of the bathroom. He walked over quietly, turning the handle and peeking in. Now that his eyes had accustomed to the dark, he could see a shape huddled in the empty bathtub, muted sobbing echoing in the small space.

Relief flooded his body. She was alive.

"Granger," he said, quietly, kneeling down on the ground and reaching his hand out towards her. He ended up patting her head, awkwardly. "Are you okay?"

"This stuff doesn't work," she hiccuped, her voice congested, gesturing to the half empty bottle of Firewhiskey. "You should ask for a refund."

"Certainly seems like it's working to me," he said, trying hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Besides, there is the small problem of you having drank half of it."

"I'm so sorry," she cried, sobbing openly now. "It didn't even do what I needed. It's broken, broken..."

"Why is it broken?" he said, leaning against the lip of the tub since he was already on the ground. "What did you want it to do?"

"I need to numb things, not make the feelings stronger," she slurred.

"Ah. So the alcohol doesn't have the same effect as the pills?" he ventured a guess.

She shook her head. "Makes me feel _more_. Don't want to feel more."

"Yes, well, different substances give you different highs," he said. "Booze feels different than narcotics."

"That's the worst," she said tearfully. He again resisted the urge to smile. Everything was okay now. He could manage the press, the business, even Weasley. She was safe and all was right with the world.

"I take that to mean you don't drink very often?"

"No," she mumbled. "It's a bad habit."

They were both quiet as the irony of her statement sunk in.

"I was looking for you," he said, deciding to be honest with her. "I was worried."

"You don't need to worry, Draco," she said with a sad smile. "I'm an expert at this."

"Not with Firewhiskey," he smirked. "I daresay you're a rank amateur at drinking. Didn't anyone tell you it's supposed to be fun?"

She laughed, wiping her cheeks. "Oh. I guess I did something wrong then. I just feel sad."

"That's some faulty drinking right there," he said, hoping to make her smile again. "You need a lesson or two."

Another laugh. His heart felt lighter. He decided to chance a question.

"Granger, can I ask you something?"

"'Course," she murmured.

"How did you get hooked on the pills in the first place? It seems like the last thing I would ever expect you to do. When did it even start?"

"After the Final Battle," she said, staring at her toes, focusing hard as she spoke. "It's weird, but I started to notice this strange feeling inside of me... Like something was missing. I tried to fill up the missing part, I guess. That's the easiest way I can explain it. The pills gave me control when I felt like I had none."

"And how do you feel now that you're trying to get off them?"

"I'm more aware of that empty feeling," she said. "But I can handle that as long as I get control back. That's what I want more than anything. If I have control over myself, it'll be worth it. Even if I'm sad. I never want to feel like my future is dictated for me... I felt that way for far too long."

Draco thought about her words. He had always felt like something was missing, ever since he was little, but he was so used to it that he didn't give it much heed. He assumed everyone felt that way. As for having his future dictated, well, he'd always felt that way too. He'd never bothered to think otherwise.

"How is it that you manage to say deep things like that when you're completely sloshed?" he asked, amused. "Speaking of which, what are you even doing in here?"

"I've been trying to sleep," she said, as if that explained everything. "I've been having some trouble," she admitted.

"Well, you are in a bathtub," he responded, deciding to wait until morning to grill her on where she had been all day. "Might be better if you were in your bed."

"Can't walk," she said, logically. "Kept falling over. Seemed safest. Tall sides."

"Right. Well, luckily I can help with that. May I?"

At first she hesitated, but then she nodded.

With an outstretched hand, he pulled her up, and lifted her out of the tub. He half walked, half dragged her to her bed and lay her down as carefully as he could.

"Merlin Granger, you smell like a bar," he complained, pulling the covers over her.

"_You_ smell like a bar," she countered, belligerently.

He snorted with amusement. "Feisty under any circumstance, hey Granger?"

"It's Hermione," she said, muffled into her pillow. "You know too much about me to call me by my last name."

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "Anyone ever tell you that you're frustratingly stubborn, _Hermione_?"

"One of my more endearing qualities," she said, managing to sound nearly sober.

He smiled, sitting down on the floor and leaning against the bed frame, running his hands through his hair. Now that he had a moment to reflect, he could see what an absolute mindfuck these past few days had been. Deciding to help Hermione had altered his life so dramatically that he barely recognized himself. Last week he only knew her as the Muggle-born he bullied in school, someone he occasionally saw in the halls of his apartment complex. This week he found himself so wrapped up in her life, and she in his, that it felt as though they could never be untangled. The disinterest he felt about everyone he knew simply didn't apply to her. She was complex and sarcastic and too crazy to be boring, not to mention the fact that she was too riddled with the effects of drugs look after herself properly. Disinterest wasn't an option.

Perhaps it was that simple, the reason behind this weird protectionism, this purring beast in his chest. Maybe if she kicked the addiction, he wouldn't feel the need to look after her anymore.

Somehow he didn't quite believe it. Something was different here. After all, Blaise was his oldest friend and they had nowhere near the odd connection that he had somehow developed with Hermione. If Blaise was in trouble, he would stand up for him and try to help him out as best he could. If Hermione was in trouble, he would track down the person responsible and gut them. He knew it in his bones.

It was disturbing, but he was exhausted from thinking about it. He would examine the strange turn of events another time.

"I'm sorry about what happened at the press conference, by the way," he said, glancing over to the mess of curls that now covered her face. "Guess we'll see what the papers have to say about it tomorrow."

There was no response. She was already asleep.

He sighed and closed his eyes, deciding that he might as well stay put for a while longer. After all, if he was being honest, he really didn't have anything to go home to.


	12. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hee hee. So a few of you didn't like it initially when I made Ron evil, but there was pretty much a collective cheer when he got his ass handed to him on a platter by our main man Draco. I think I know where your loyalties lie. ;) Anyways. This chapter? __Shit gets real! Major plot points emerge! Lucius is a peacock! Review review review!_

_Just like last weekend, I'm planning on taking the next two days off from posting (I can offer an out though: If I get flooded with comments, like, more than your usual awesomeness, I'll post a chapter on Sunday. It's up to you, silent readers! The regulars are out in full force! Otherwise I will see you here on Monday.) I'm trying to sort out how the story will end, so I'm going to be spending a lot of quality time with my laptop this weekend. I think we're looking at something like 20 - 22 chapters, but we shall see! (Are there any fellow Canadians out there? Happy Canada Day!) xoxo _

* * *

_Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump_.

Hermione drifted into consciousness, sluggishly taking inventory of her surroundings as she stumbled towards wakefulness. That sound in her ears must be her pulse. Her face felt sticky against her pillow. Her head... Oh God her head felt like it was splitting open. What the fuck had she done? How did she get here?

_Draco_.

Draco had put her in bed. The memory shone through the pain, fuzzy but real. He had found her in the bath, just another humiliating circumstance he had saved her from, another debt to add to the pile.

The tub had made sense at the time. She decided to crawl there after spending hours drinking away her sorrows in the woods, realizing with dismay that alcohol was not fixing her problems. The pills numbed everything, just the way she liked it. But this? This made her so bloody emotional that she was crippled with feeling. Hermione rarely drank, so she wasn't prepared for the difference between her usual drug of choice and the Firewhiskey. Instead of being muted, her heartbreak was sharper. Her disappointment was heavier. Her grief was overwhelming. All those emotions mixed together in a toxic slew of hysteria. Miracle she managed to get back home, really.

It was a failure of a night. The only thing she managed to do was worry Draco and give herself a terrible hangover. That explained the immense pain that was radiating through her, the apex of which gathering behind her eyes like a dagger.

She lifted her head off the pillow slowly, overly conscious of the tight muscles in her neck as they complained at being moved. She needed water, a hot shower, and then she had to find Draco and apologize. Shame on her for bringing him into this mess. Stealing his alcohol and trying to drink away her problems was so childish she couldn't believe she'd actually done it. Was this what addiction was like? You know something is ruining you, but you can't seem to stop? It was like jumping in front of a train without actually wanting to die. She knew it was a bad idea, but she had gone for it anyways, unable to imagine coping with her problems unassisted.

Draco didn't deserve that sort of nonsense. He had struggled enough without her issues weighing him down. Her job was to resurrect his business and help him be accepted into society again. Pulling immature stunts like this was unacceptable. Making him worry needlessly was a terrible way to say thank you for what he had done.

She turned her head.

Her eyes widened. Draco was asleep in her reading chair, his too-long legs falling over the arm and his head cradled in the wingback in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position. Blond hair a tousled mess. Fancy suit marked with dirt.

He had stayed.

Something funny twinged in her chest. Her brain raced to figure out what this meant. Just then, she saw his finger twitch, and then his whole hand, and then he groaned.

The thought of him waking up to finding her staring at him was strangely terrifying. Unsure what else to do, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

* * *

Draco groaned. Sweet mother of Merlin, he was uncomfortable. Blinking his eyes open, he took an unfocused look at his surroundings.

"Fuck!" he whispered, shooting out of the chair and stumbling on his tired legs. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

Hermione was in front of him, fast asleep on her bed. The trouble was that he wasn't supposed to be here to see her. He had never intended to stay until morning. He had crawled into the chair right after she had fallen asleep, planning to rest for a while before heading down to his own flat. Apparently he had completely passed out. What would have happened if she had awoken? How could he spin that one?

_Sorry Granger, I just felt the need to behave like a deranged stalker and stay in your room while you slept_.

No. Absolutely not. This wasn't okay. His behaviour had officially gotten out of hand, and he knew it. He was a _Malfoy_ for Merlin's sake. Cold. Aloof. Not under anybody's thumb. He should not be falling asleep in the room of his childhood nemesis after having torn up half of London looking for her.

Draco inhaled sharply and took one last look at Hermione before attempting to sneak out. She looked so peaceful, so unencumbered. The dragon in his chest twitched.

Christ. His body was having a fucking _physical reaction_ to her. Seeing her safe and resting practically made his chest hum with satisfaction. That wasn't normal. Something was wrong with him. He needed to see a Healer. No, better yet, he needed to see his mother. She could tell him what was going on. The woman knew more about the Malfoy family history than anyone else... Maybe she had a theory as to why his body was being so traitorous.

Backing out of the room as quietly as he could, Draco slipped out of Hermione's flat, closed the door, and disapparated with a CRACK.

* * *

Narcissa's senses tingled as she heard the familiar crack of apparition in the distance. Slowly and elegantly, she walked over to the window and looked out.

A satisfied smile snuck across her face.

"You look awfully pleased," said Lucius, observing his wife from across the room. "Anything I should know?"

"Draco's here," she said, simply.

Lucius walked quickly over to the window and glared through the glass. Draco was racing up the lane, looking more distraught than usual, his body tense and his face clouded with worry.

"That was fast," she said, happily.

"I think he might just be here to visit," said Lucius stubbornly, knowing full well that Narcissa would probably never buy such a weak excuse.

"I think you'll soon be wishing you didn't make a wager on the outcome of this little situation," she smirked.

Lucius clenched his jaw. "'Cissa, for the last time, Draco is not falling for a Muggle-born."

"True," Narcissa said.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. It wasn't like his wife to admit defeat so easily.

"He's already fallen for her," she whispered, pecking him on the lips and walking out of the room.

* * *

"Hello darling," said Narcissa, walking down the marble staircase right as Draco threw open the main doors and marched into the lobby, looking jittery and agitated.

"Mother," he nodded. "I trust you're well?"

"Quite," she said. "You seem a bit tense, dear. Is it because of work?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said, uncomfortably. "Where's father?"

"In his study. Shall I fetch him?"

"No, no, that's quite alright. I was hoping to speak to you, actually," he said.

"How nice," she smiled. "Let's go to the garden. It's finally starting to bloom."

They walked in silence, Draco jumpy, Narcissa calm and poker faced. An old stone bench, recently scrubbed of the green algae that crawled insistently up its legs, sat nestled in a small corner of the yard. A small tree nearby was budding. The space was freshly pruned, quite different from the previous years when it had started to fall into disarray.

"It looks nice out here," Draco remarked.

"Thank you," Narcissa said. "With all the good news about the business, I started to get inspired again. It's amazing how much things change when you're not always fretting about money."

"Indeed," Draco said, clearing his throat, trying to decide how to broach the issue that was eating away at him. Narcissa gestured to the bench and they both sat down.

"What's bothering you, dear?" Narcissa asked. "I expected to see you much happier than this with everything going on."

"Well, everything that's going on is part of the problem, I suppose," he said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"Would I be presumptive to inquire if Miss Granger is somehow involved in your troubles?"

"Actually, she is," Draco said with a touch of suspicion. "How did you know?"

Narcissa shrugged. "She's a rather new addition to your life, and she seems to have brought quite a lot of excitement with her. It's natural for you to feel thrown off balance."

"Well," Draco said, bracing himself. "The problem is that I'm feeling some other things as well."

"Oh?" Narcissa said, innocently. "What would those be?"

There was a long pause as Draco's stomach tightened with nerves. "I… I worry about her."

"Draco," Narcissa said in a soothing voice. "She's your colleague, and it sounds like she's got some problems in her personal life. It's natural for you to want to make sure she's holding things together."

He looked over and met her eyes, licking his lips nervously. "Mother, I don't just worry the way I might if Blaise was in trouble. My concern for her is more… Intense."

_She has crawled into my brain and won't leave_, he wanted to add, but didn't. _She makes me want to murder those who cause her harm_.

Narcissa appeared to consider this. "Well, perhaps you just have some mild feelings for her, son. A crush. Have you considered that?"

Draco wrinkled his nose, and she misunderstood.

"She's very pretty," Narcissa said. "And obviously very smart. There's no need to look repulsed. It's only natural to – "

"Mother! I'm not repulsed… It's just… I just…" He broke off, frustrated at his inability to communicate what he was feeling.

_When she's in danger, I feel like something wakes up inside of me. I feel like I would do anything to keep her safe and happy_.

"Is this about her blood?" Narcissa asked. "Because I should tell you that I've quite changed my perspective on that issue."

"No, it's not about her blood. I honestly don't care about that nonsense anymore."

"So what is it?"

Draco sighed, dropping his head into his hands. This was going nowhere. "It just doesn't feel like a crush, mother. That's all."

The birds chirped cheerfully, and Draco actively resisted the urge to blow them all up. Just bloody perfect. He had high hopes that his mother would set him straight, but now he felt more lost than ever. A crush? Really? This was bigger than a crush. Scarier. A whole fuckload more powerful. He needed a proper explanation, not just a weak excuse.

"There is of course the legend of the Gregales trait in the Malfoy line, but that's more of a myth than anything," she said, absently.

"The what?" he said, his head snapping up.

"Oh, it's really nothing, dear. Just some old tale about our family. There's supposed to be a magical trait that gets passed down through the generations. When a Malfoy finds their true mate, it's said that the connection between them is almost primal. It's described as an 'internal beast' in some of the old books in the library. Fascinating stuff."

Draco inhaled too quickly and then coughed out of surprise. Narcissa waited patiently for him to quiet down, her face still a mask of innocence.

"So… What more do you know about this trait?" Draco asked, hoarsely. "Just out of interest, of course."

"Of course," she said pleasantly. "Well, unlike a trait that's only passed by blood, this one eventually transfers over to the Malfoy's mate. Essentially, the Malfoy would begin by feeling some sort of powerful, protective bond with their mate, and eventually the feeling would be reciprocal. Magically, the other person becomes bonded in return. It's said to have destroyed a fair number of arranged marriages when the Malfoy in question became mated with someone else. Can't really ignore it when you're fated for someone. It's love of the strongest sort."

"How often is this said to happen?" Draco said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"If you believe the books, it happens about once every two hundred years," said Narcissa, inspecting her nails. "A magical match. Quite romantic, really."

_Quite terrifying_, thought Draco.

"And so far, all the instances of this happening has been between Purebloods, I imagine," Draco said, dread building in his stomach.

"Of course," Narcissa said. "Although who knows what the future will bring. Some have suggested that the trait comes out when the family is in need of something, either a change of course or a new advantage to the line. I suppose, if this trait exists, it could very well choose someone who is not a Pureblood."

"But isn't this all conjecture?" Draco said, scrambling to find a way out. "How can you know when something is magically fated as opposed to just being a crush, for example?"

"Valid point, and a good question," Narcissa said. "With this particular trait, there is a fairly visual clue that is said to develop when the connection is genuine."

"Which is…"

"Our hair."

"Are you saying that – "

"The Malfoy mate will eventually develop the same shade of hair as the rest of the family. It's more than fair colouring, Draco – it's an identifier. Rather clever to have it built in as part of the trait, I've always thought."

Draco stared at his mother, trying to gage her seriousness. A chuckle tickled his ribs, and then another rumble in his chest. Suddenly, he exploded with laughter. Narcissa looked alarmed as he guffawed into his hands.

"Oh mother, thank you so much," he gasped. "You've made me feel much better about things."

"Indeed?" she said, confused.

"Yes, indeed. I really appreciate it." With a wide grin, he pecked her on the cheek and stood up to leave.

"Son, I really think you and Miss Granger should come to the Manor for tea," she said, sounding slightly annoyed. "I'd still like to thank her in person."

"Of course, no problem," Draco said, waving his hand casually as he walked away. "Tomorrow would probably work. I'll send an owl to confirm."

When he was out of sight, a slight rustling in the bushes made Narcissa turn her head. Lucius stepped out from behind the foliage, like a terrifying peacock of death. Except the peacock was grinning.

"Well?" she said. "He certainly seemed to panic when I mentioned the protective bond."

"He also seemed genuinely amused when you mentioned the hair," Lucius gloated. "Seems to have blown his panic straight out the window. Can't say I blame him. I still think you're wrong about her. Ludicrous to think that she could really be his match. Imagine, those two in love. Even better, imagine her hair changing!" He snorted with amusement.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You remember, of course, that they said the same about us. They said we would never work together."

"Completely different!" he scoffed. "We were very clearly destined for one another. Those two are different in every way."

"Is that so? Are you still hung up on her blood, Lucius?"

"No," he said, firmly. "I can accept that times have changed. Those beliefs nearly wiped out our family, and I have no intention of clinging to them for the sake of tradition. That said, I am not about to believe that Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend and loud-mouthed Muggle-born, is somehow fated for our son. Not without some clear proof. You say the protectionism has hit him? I want to see it hit her with the same intensity. Then we'll talk."

"You'll be eating your words soon," Narcissa responded, coolly. "That girl has a fire inside of her. I pity the poor soul who ignites it. You'll see."

"Perhaps," Lucius said, thoughtfully. "But in the meantime, at least I'll be entertained."

_Not for long_, thought Narcissa, knowing full well things were about to speed right up. If Hermione really was Draco's mate, and if she took the potion that Narcissa had left for her, she was about to get thrown off an emotional cliff as the trait made up for lost time. Hopefully she was strong enough to make it to the bottom intact.

After all, once the Gregales got going, she was going to feel completely out of control.

* * *

Hermione arrived at the office with trepidation, trying to ignore the overwhelming pain in her head and the shakes that had developed since she woke up. Today was destined for disaster.

She had heard Draco's profanity while she was feigning sleep, and took that to mean that he didn't want to be seen after all. But where did that leave her? Was he ashamed of staying over? Was he going to downplay last night's events? Would he deny everything? She had been genuinely touched at the gesture, and found herself longing to know what he was thinking. Did Draco have feelings for her, or was he just being a good friend? Harry was the type to help someone out and stay over to make sure they were safe. Ron would have too back before his behaviour took a turn for the worse. Draco? Extremely unlikely under any circumstance. And yet, it happened.

So many questions, so many potentially difficult answers.

For now though, before she attempted to find out anything, she needed her medicine. She didn't notice it was missing until she had stumbled out of bed, and then realized with a groan that it was still at work. _Goddamnit_, she couldn't do anything right. When she needed it most, that blasted green potion was completely out of reach.

So here she was, after the world's quickest shower and a speedy brush of her teeth, she had apparated as close as she could to Trebax and then threw the cloak on to slip through the front door unnoticed. Sprinting nimbly up the stairs, she tried to stay calm about whatever awaited her inside.

She rounded the corner and looked in.

Nobody was there.

"Hello?" she called out, confused. No answer.

Hermione walked over to Draco's office and peeked in. Empty. She frowned, noticing a letter on his desk. Blaise's signature caught her eye as she picked it up.

_Drake,_

_Met some charming witches after you both left the press conference and am taking a day off to celebrate the recent success of the business with them. Apologies for any inconvenience. You know how to reach me in an emergency._

_Blaise._

"Hmm," Hermione said, creasing her brow. The note explained Blaise's absence, but not Draco's. Where could he be? Hopefully he wasn't hiding from her because he was embarrassed about last night. If anyone was to be embarrassed, it was her. She'd stolen his bloody liquor for crying out loud. If he was feeling anything, it should probably be anger and disappointment.

Just then, an odd popping noise drew her attention away from Blaise's note, and she walked out of Draco's office to find the source. On her desk stood a vial of bright blue liquid with a small card attached. She picked it up, curiously. Strange, but she hadn't noticed the vial when she first came in. Seemed like a hard thing to miss. Who on earth would have left it here?

_To make you feel better_, it read in Draco's elegant script.

Her shoulders relaxed. Draco must have left it for her. To help this monster of a hangover. He wasn't embarrassed after all – he had even managed to be thoughtful despite all the turbulence she'd left in her wake. The knowledge made her feel worlds better.

Chewing on her lip, Hermione inspected the blue potion. She'd never seen anything quite like it. A simple healing tincture, perhaps? So pretty. It was hard to get potions to reach this level of colour saturation - quite a bit of skill was needed to get those things right. It was almost a pity to drink it. With a shrug, she shook the vial and emptied it in one gulp, surprised that it tasted strongly of lavender.

A moment passed as she waited for her headache to go away, examining the note a little more closely in the meanwhile.

_Oh dear_.

At first glance, the writing seemed familiar, but now that she was really looking, it didn't appear to be Draco's handwriting at all. In fact, it was changing before her eyes. The flourish on the "y" was all wrong now... Much too feminine for someone like him. Similar, but not exact.

A second later, everything went black.


	13. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Uh... It must be said. You guys are HILARIOUS. And there are so many of you! Where were you hiding? Seriously, thank you for coming out to review - you actually took me by surprise. Since you asked (okay, begged) so nicely, here's the early update I promised. TEAMWORK! (And I'm actually posting on Saturday instead of Sunday because my best friend had a baby about an HOUR AGO (OMFG!) and I have a feeling I'm going to be away from the computer a lot tomorrow! AAAAAAAHHHH! Sorry, excited.)_

_Please keep your comments coming! I love all the speculation on what's going to happen to Hermione's hair. As you're about to see, though, we have some bigger things to worry about. You know I like a good twist, and things are about to get twisty. And maybe a little wet, if you catch my drift.__ Let's get started, shall we? xo (See you here Monday!) _

* * *

The smell of cedar and aftershave was so strong she could almost taste it. Arms were wrapped protectively around her. She smiled. If this was a dream, she never wanted it to end.

"Granger!"

Hermione eyes snapped open. She was lying on the cold floor with an angry Draco hovering over her. Ah. Damn.

"That's it, woman," he growled. "I'm taking you to the hospital and leaving you there. I think you spend more time unconscious around me than you do awake, you know that?"

"Wait!" she said, scrambling to take stock of the strange feeling that was building inside of her. "Wait… Something's changed."

"Yeah, you're on the ground instead of standing up!" he said, irately. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! Not that giving me a heart attack is anything new. I think I've had about five since you came back into my life. Are you trying to kill me with worry? Because I'll tell you something – "

"The addiction's gone," she said, in awe. That was it. That little voice in the back of her head that always pushed her towards the pills. That shadow in her body that made her yearn for a crutch when things went wrong. The dependency.

Gone.

Like it had been plucked out of her. Like it had never been there.

How was that even possible?

What the _hell_ was that potion?

"Excuse me?" he said.

"I drank that little vile of liquid," she said, dazedly, pointing to her desk. "I thought you left it for me, but I think now it might have been from someone else..."

"You did _what?_" he said, in shock. "You drank a mystery vile of liquid? Do you have a fucking death wish? Merlin's balls, Hermione!"

"I thought it was from you!" she protested, sitting up. "Because of the message, I thought it was from you."

Draco glared and stood up abruptly, stomping over to where the vile lay tipped over on her desk. He read the note and examined the handwriting. His expression changed dramatically.

"What the fuck…" he whispered.

"Do you recognize it?" she asked, standing up. "The handwriting I mean?"

Draco didn't answer, pocketing the vial and turning back, looking alarmed to see her upright.

"You should be sitting down," he snapped.

"You should stop giving me orders," she replied, annoyed. "Look, I wouldn't have taken it if I didn't think it was from you. At first glance, I thought it was your handwriting, so I trusted it."

Draco clenched his jaw. It was hard to argue with her when she said things like that, even if her subsequent actions were bloody idiotic.

"You would seriously just drink some random potion if it came from me? Without any indication as to what it might be?"

"You're not out to harm me, Draco," she said. "So yes, I suppose I would. Why is it so hard to believe that I trust you?"

"I don't know!" he said, exasperated. "Maybe because trust is a fairly new thing in our long and sordid history?"

"In case you haven't noticed, times have changed," she said, sternly. "I'm afraid you'll just have to get used to it."

Draco gritted his teeth. She had that determined look on her face again. Blast, he was never going to win this argument.

He had come here in a great mood, convinced that his emotions were simply confused, that maybe he just had a crush after all. It was a silly word, a silly idea, frankly, but it would have to do. After all, Hermione couldn't possibly be his mate. Not only was the concept was laughable, but there was no conceivable way her hair would ever be anything but bushy and brown. That meant the Gregales trait was gone from the equation, even if it would have explained some of the strange emotions that had been holding him hostage lately.

So he had returned to work with a smile, relieved that he could strike a mysterious family oddity off his list of potential threats to his sanity. That smile stayed on for approximately one minute until he found Hermione passed out on the ground.

Instant panic.

The beast in his chest woke up and started pacing.

All his good feelings evaporated.

And now, here she was telling him that her addiction was miraculously gone. After having drank an unknown potion. A potion with a note in what looked suspiciously like his mother's handwriting.

This day was going to kill him.

Draco groaned, and covered his face with his hands, pressing his palms into his skin, frustrated and shaken. What happened to that cold and restrained version of himself that had been his default for so long? It felt like a lifetime ago. Now he was governed by _her_. Always _her_. A few short days and she had gotten into his very blood.

_Inhale. Exhale. Try to think_.

No, thinking was a bad idea. Lately all he could think about was the object of his frustration.

"Draco?" she said in an expectant tone.

He ignored her, feeling petulant. Maybe if he didn't respond, she would give up and walk away, taking her magnolia scent with her, her funny little mannerisms, her witty responses.

Except that he really liked all those things. He didn't want her to walk away.

It was a conundrum.

Suddenly, Hermione's warm hands were covering his, her fingers gently grasping his own, intertwining each digit with deliberate care. His breath caught in his throat, an odd purring taking root in his chest. Slowly, she pulled his hands away from his face. He looked at her with trepidation, aware that her touch was somehow melting away the stress that had invaded his body only seconds earlier. He fought to hold on to his control, but it was slipping under her the feeling of her hands. Her eyes were shining with excitement.

"Draco, I don't know if you heard me or not, but my addiction is gone. Whatever that potion was got rid of it. I don't feel dependent on the pills at all. My shakes are gone… My nausea too… My vision is clear… I haven't felt this way since school! I've got control of myself again!"

He heard what she was saying, but he was so distracted by the fact that she was holding his hands, all he could do was nod.

"Aren't you excited?" she said. "I'm better!"

"Yes, yes, excited," he murmured. Her fingers were extremely soft. How did she get them like that?

"I need to find out who left me that bottle," she said, familiar determination in her voice.

He came crashing down to earth.

"I have a theory," he said, pulling his hands out of her grasp and turning away from her to hide the colour that was rising in his cheeks. Her touch had done something peculiar to him. Everything tingled. He started walking away. "Let me look into it."

"Who?" she asked, following closely. "Draco, I need to know."

"You don't need to know," he snapped, starting to feel angry again. She was always putting herself in danger. Couldn't she see that he needed her to be safe? "You're better, and that's peachy, but I have some research to do before I can be sure. The rest isn't your concern."

"It is very much my concern," she retorted. "This person helped me tremendously, and on the other hand, nobody was supposed to now about my condition. I need to find out how they learned what was going on."

_You and me both_, he thought. His mother had run errands after she had visited the office, hadn't she? He was willing to bet money she had been snooping where she had no business doing so. Fuck, why did she have to stick her nose into this? He was looking after Hermione just fine without his mother's help.

"Are you even listening to me?" she said, frustrated. "Draco, this is important!"

"I hear you!" he growled, his temper rising. "Jesus Hermione, it's impossible to block you out!"

"Well it would help if you replied every now and then!" she said, exasperated. "All you do is snap at me!"

"That's because all you do is make me worry about you!" he yelled, picking up a model broom and chucking angrily across the room. It hit the pile of papers on Blaise's desk and knocked everything off in a big crash. Something rolled onto the ground.

Hermione went quiet, staring at the object. Draco felt the shift in her mood and eyed her warily.

"Hermione?" he said, suddenly concerned. "Sorry about the broom… I lost my temper."

"How long have you had that?" she said, pointing at the floor. Her voice was eerily calm, and it made Draco uneasy. He looked to where she was pointing. There lay the ugly toy with the bulging eyes and the lolly, the toy that shouted out "You're a sucker!" at every turn.

"That thing? For years. It belongs to Blaise."

Hermione walked over and picked up the object. She turned it over in her hands, and Draco could see her jaw tensing.

"And where did Blaise get it from?"

Draco frowned and examined her face. She looked like she was ready to explode.

"From Weasley," he said.

"Bastard," she seethed. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

* * *

"She says it's some sort of recording device," said Draco to Blaise, his voice tired and cracked. "Based on a Muggle thing, I guess. Sends information back to the owner."

They were sitting in Draco's apartment after Hermione kicked Draco out of the office, saying she had some serious work to do and that she wanted zero distractions. Predictably, she didn't accept Draco's arguments to stay, and he owled Blaise to come meet him despite Blaise's big plans for the day. After all, this was the sheer definition of an emergency... Wasn't it?

"I don't understand," Blaise sighed, clearly annoyed that he was not currently sandwiched between two women. "I thought it was just a dumb toy. Ron said it was some tester thing from his brothers."

"It was – a tester for gathering information. Weasley was spying on us, mate," Draco said. "All these years. We couldn't figure out how the press knew everything we were up to, and it's because Weasley was privy to a large chunk of our discussions. That blasted toy was never far away."

Blaise's expression darkened. "Our other businesses…"

"Our broom plans," Draco nodded. "All stolen and sold. Now we know how that bitch Stacey McLorrow got her hands on them. He's been shagging her for years."

"But why? Why fuck us over like that? That's not some low level prank… We were close to living on the streets! The constant bad press drove us to poverty!"

"I don't know why he did it," Draco muttered. "But you can bet Hermione's going to find out. I've never seen her this angry. She had no idea what he was up to, even when they were engaged."

"Well, I'm glad it's Hermione looking into this, because if it was up to me, I'd just hunt Ron down and murder the fucker," Blaise growled. "I wasn't crazy about him, but I didn't think he was that calculating. I didn't think he actually hated me."

"It wasn't you, Blaise," Draco said. "He was trying to get to me. I'm sure of it. I think he was just using you to bring me down."

"Nobody uses me, especially not to fuck you over!" Blaise said, clearly furious, making to stand up. "Screw waiting; I'm going to find him myself and teach him a lesson."

"Don't," Draco said, shaking his head and pulling Blaise back down by the sleeve. "Look, I empathize, clearly, but you didn't see Hermione's face. She got kind of... Scary. We need to stay out of her way until she's done."

"Seriously mate? Surely she wouldn't begrudge me a little - "

"No."

With a reluctant sigh, Blaise nodded, and settled back into his chair. "You're probably right. Don't really fancy an angry Granger on my arse. Speaking of which, at least one thing's gone right out of all this nonsense." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded copy of the Prophet for Draco to see.

"Merlin, I completely forgot about this," Draco said, opening it up. "How did the papers spin that giant failure of a press conference?"

"I'll put it this way: you'd never know it was a failure. Actually, you'd never know you two were platonic either." He coughed the last words into his sleeve.

Draco glared, and then looked at the front page. A huge photo of Draco with his arm around Hermione was splashed across the space, their eyes locked, him leaning in, their faces unusually close together. It was an extremely intimate pose, and it was extremely misleading.

"I was holding her up!" Draco cried, aghast. "They make it look like we're romantically involved or something! I was trying to stop her from collapsing - I whispered something to her. That's why I was leaning in... That's why I've got my arm around her!"

"Sure mate. Whatever you say," Blaise smirked. "Article's hugely positive, by the way, practically drooling over what they imagine is a simmering romance between you two. Now look at the article underneath. It's a work of art, especially given what we've just learned."

Draco's eyes widened.

"Are people actually throwing tomatoes at the Weasel?" he asked in awe as he looked at the accompanying picture. "I didn't think that happened in real life. This article is scathing!"

"Yes indeed," said Blaise. "Honestly, it's like the press read Hermione's mind and then sent it to print. Tears a strip off him, and doesn't have nice things to say about McLorrow either. Points out that she has a history of being totally unbalanced and cruel."

"Amazing," Draco said. "I don't know how Hermione manages this stuff, but it's bloody brilliant. She's got them eating out of her hand."

"I agree, which brings me to my next question," Blaise said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet on the table, much to Draco's distaste. "When are you going to start dating again?"

"What?" said Draco, grimacing. "Where did that come from? What does that have to do with anything?"

Blaise gave him a calculating look. "Think about it. The business is finally redeemed. Your reputation is better than it's ever been. You're not broke any longer. You've been hard up for a fuck for... Oh... Five years? When did Pansy leave again?"

"That's not important," Draco said uncomfortably. It was true that he was itching to let off some steam, tired of relying on his hand every time he needed release. The problem was that he was repulsed at the thought of doing so with some random witch. Truly, physically repulsed. He'd once wanted nothing more than to shag every willing female with a decent bloodline, and now the idea left him nauseated.

As for the reasons _why_ he felt that way... Well... He didn't particularly want to examine them right now.

"Not important?" Blaise scoffed. "Mate, sex is like breathing. You've been suffocating for too long. I'm telling you, it's time."

"I'll date eventually," he said. "I just don't want to think about it now. I've got too much going on."

"Too much for a quick shag?" Blaise pressed.

"Yeah, too much for a quick shag," he snapped. Why was Blaise pushing this? Couldn't he see that it was a non-starter? Draco cracked his knuckles agitatedly.

"Fine," Blaise said, dropping the issue surprisingly fast. In fact, he almost looked amused. "So out of curiosity, with all these things going on, what's the top thing on your mind right now?"

"Well, other than the fact that Granger's probably gearing up to murder Weasely, I also have to bring her to the Manor tomorrow."

"Come again?"

"My mother wants to meet her... Officially, you know. Preferably in a context that doesn't involve torture. I suppose my father will have to meet her too. So I'm bringing her for lunch. Not really sure how that will go."

"I see. So the issues that you're preoccupied with right now are Granger's plans for Weasley, and Granger's reaction to officially meeting your parents."

Draco nodded, missing the pointed look he was getting from his friend.

"Anything else?"

"No," he lied. He was also thinking about the potion Hermione drank, about whether or not her addiction was truly gone. Would things change between them now that she was clean? Would she still need him? Would he still have the instinct to protect her? And how was his mother involved in all of this?

No point in telling Blaise any of that. He might get the wrong impression.

Blaise rolled his eyes as Draco gazed out the window. He wasn't sure what was funnier: the fact that Draco was absolutely heartsick over the girl, or the fact that he was completely in denial about it.

* * *

Hermione looked up at her ceiling and marvelled at the amazing feelings coursing through her. Sobriety was _incredible_. Was this really how it felt to have dependency ripped out of your system? While it was true that her pre-drug days were a bit of a blur, she had difficulty remembering ever experiencing this unusual humming in her chest. It felt almost primal.

Then, of course, there was the heat.

Another surge of feeling raced through her blood and she gasped at the sheer power of it, back arched, fingers grasping the sheets on either side of her. The bed was damp with sweat. Clothes were discarded in a pile on the floor in a futile attempt to cool off. She was down to her knickers now, but by gods, she _burned_.

After she kicked Draco out of the office, Hermione had let her newfound clarity guide her. The drugs had monopolized her thoughts for so long that being able to focus on a single mission was exciting and liberating. Besides, this funny instinct humming inside of her demanded retribution. Ron had been spying on Draco practically since the War ended. He had sold the information to the press, given it to his mistresses and Merlin knew who else. He had put Draco in a desperate position after trying to make good for so long.

He was going to pay.

But first, Hermione decided that she owed it to herself to be rational. For some reason she wanted to track Ron down and do something violently out of character. Even in this new headspace, she could tell that was a bad idea. So she developed a rational, legal, absolutely vicious form of payback and spent the afternoon seeing it through, all the while conscious of the surging hum that was swirling around inside of her. She blamed it on the potion and tried to put it out of her mind. After being dependent on pharmaceuticals for so long, this sort of reaction must be normal. It must.

It had been hard to focus, though, her thoughts always sliding back to Draco. Wondering where he had gone to. Hoping he wasn't getting himself into trouble. Fighting her brain to _get back on track_. Once the sun had set, she gave up and trudged back home, starting to feel dizzy from this blooming heat in her stomach and chest.

And now here she was, cresting at the peak of something she couldn't explain.

With a grunt, Hermione tore off her knickers, panting. What the hell was going on? It was becoming more and more clear that these odd feelings weren't the cheerful hum of sobriety after all. This was too much. Consumed by thoughts of Draco, starkers on her bed, seriously considering taking a cold shower just to get it under control.

Something occurred to her. _I wonder_... Timidly, she slid her fingers in between her legs and gasped.

Absolutely, completely drenched with arousal.

"What the fuck...?" she whimpered, especially conflicted because the thought of taking her hand away from where it lay now seemed cruel. Her sex drive had died an awful death with the pills, and engaging in a quick romp with Ron had always required absolute, drug-induced numbness. Now though? She felt like she could come with a few well-placed strokes.

Should she try?

_Oh, why the hell not_.

One quick swipe of her fingers sent pleasure shooting up her core, and she groaned as Draco's face flashed across her eyelids.

A second swipe made her body hum so strongly she felt it in her bones.

_Would it really only take three?_

Picturing Draco's mouth, those lips that so often curled into a sarcastic smirk, she slid her fingers inside of her, pressing against her clit with the heel of her hand.

A mere two seconds of pressure, and the orgasm that followed was like a bomb, bringing his name to her lips in a cry that almost sounded like a sob, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

With a groan, eyes wide and panting, Hermione looked up at the ceiling in amazement.

_What. The fuck. Was that_.

That had never happened before. Ever. She'd never come that quickly and that hard for _anyone_. What did it mean? And why was it happening now?

Dopey as her heart rate started to slow, her eyes began to flicker shut, her thoughts spinning, she fell into a deep sleep, her entire body covered with a sheen of sweat, her fingers glistening, her chest humming happily.

Several floors down, Draco jolted out of bed with a gasp. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he fought to catch his breath, his bare chest slick with heat.

"Why the _fuck_ did I just dream about that?" he whispered.


	14. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hi sugars! I'm back, as promised. Glad you enjoyed that last instalment. I've determined from your reviews that approximately 98% are smut fans. Good to know!_

_I'll be spending the rest of the day writing like a nutcase (in between kissing babies and snuggling my dog) because I've got to finish this story before I run out of chapters. That's the only problem with posting as often as I do - there's no slacking on the writing! Ah well, you guys keep up your end of the bargain by reviewing, so I'm not going to sweat it._

_Now I know how this chapter looks on the hair front, but don't jump to any wild and crazy conclusions. As with everything, I have a plan. Woot! xo_

* * *

Blaise looked quizzically at Hermione as she scratched away on the parchment with her quill, her brow furrowed with concentration while she chewed ruthlessly on her lip. She had been writing that way for two hours, from the moment she stepped into the office until now. Blaise knew there was work to do, but he wondered how it was possible for anyone to be _that_ busy so early in the day.

Then again, Draco was doing exactly the same thing.

Moments earlier, when Blaise had stopped by his friend's desk to drop off a file, he found Draco with his nose buried in a stack of documents, reading with a fervor Blaise hadn't seen since… Ever. Draco only grunted his acknowledgement of the delivery, not even raising his eyes from the page lest he miss a word.

It was all very weird, and it reeked of avoidance. Draco and Hermione hadn't gone near each other all morning, and the air was so thick with tension Blaise felt like he was walking through pudding. Had he missed something? When he spoke with Draco yesterday, everything seemed fine. Well, as fine as things could be, what with the discovery of Ron's Trojan horse of a toy and Hermione's subsequent crazed mission for retribution. She had yet to give them the details on that, come to think of it. Although it was fairly clear that there were some unresolved emotions floating between his two office mates, the reason behind this new awkwardness was a bit of a mystery. In theory, it shouldn't be any more awkward than normal. And yet it was. _Very_.

A crinkling sound drew Blaise out of his thoughts, and he looked up. Hermione was starting in on yet another fresh page of parchment, still as concentrated as ever. Her pile of completed papers was teetering to her left, and was bound to tip over at any moment. She remained oblivious, nibbling steadfastly on her lip. Blaise rolled his eyes. There was no point in staying here to watch these two work themselves into the ground. Might as well go pick up something for lunch.

"Hermione?" he said, noticing with amusement that she actually jumped at the sound of his voice, her eyes darting briefly towards Draco's door.

"Hm?" she said.

"I'm going to grab a bite. Want anything?"

"No thank you," she said, hurriedly. "Going to the Manor for lunch today."

"Right, of course," he said. The infamous Manor lunch, where poor Hermione would have to contend with a passive-agressive Lucius and a frigid Narcissa, all the while trying not to mention that the last time she was in their humble abode, she was tortured. With an apologetic smile, he stood up and strode into Draco's office.

"Mate? Want anything from the café?"

Draco shook his head, not lifting his eyes from the precious stack of papers in front of him. Blaise frowned. This routine was getting tiresome. Somebody was going to talk, and since he was more comfortable harassing Draco, the decision was made for him. He walked over to Draco's door and closed it, dropping himself into the chair across from his friend with deliberate force.

"You're going to tell me what's going on," he stated in a way that left no room for bargaining.

Draco sighed irritably and looked up. "What makes you think something's going on?"

"Drake, I hate to burst your bubble, but even a blind dwarf with bad hearing would be able to tell there's something going on here. So what is it? Did something change since last night that I should know about? You're acting like you had a drunken one night stand with our dearest Hermione over there."

"Nonsense," Draco scoffed, but without much conviction. "Just didn't sleep well."

"Why's that?" Blaise asked, determined to get some sort of explanation.

"Dreams," Draco muttered. "Distracting dreams."

"Okay," Blaise sighed. "So you didn't sleep well. But that still doesn't really explain why you and our pretty friend are acting so weird."

"Don't call her that," Draco said, curtly.

"You didn't used to have a problem with it," Blaise frowned. "But fine, both you and _Hermione_ are being really awkward, and I want to know why."

"Go ask her then!" Draco said, annoyed. "She's been avoiding me as much as I've been avoiding her!"

"Aha!" Blaise said, wagging his finger. "You admit you're avoiding her!"

Colour rose in Draco's cheeks, and he looked away abruptly.

"Tell me," Blaise smirked, leaning in with a hunch on his mind. "These dreams… Did they involve Hermione in various states of undress?"

"Oh fuck off!" Draco said, picking up his Hogwarts snow globe and lobbing it at Blaise's head. Blaise caught it with a mischievous smile.

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, putting down the globe and sauntering off. "How interesting."

Draco watched Blaise leave and tried to calm his breathing. _Of course_ he was avoiding her. In his dreams, he'd fucked her twenty times over and had woken up ready for more. He'd seen her _do things_, mind-meltingly amazing things, things that were now burned into the back of his eyelids. He'd never dreamed so vividly, so strongly, and sure enough, he had been rock hard ever since, resorting to taking a calming draught just to keep his body under control. He _couldn't_ go out and talk to her. It was hard enough to sit this close to her without blurting out some sort of sexual proposition. The entire situation was horribly embarrassing... It was like he was sixteen again! His mind was at the whim of his libido, and everything else was getting pushed to the side. Work was a write-off - he'd read through three flying manuals without taking in a word. And lunch? Lunch was going to be a disaster. If he didn't find some way to stop his brain from replaying his dreams over and over again, he was going to have to cancel the whole damn thing.

Draco buried his head in his hands, wishing he could clear his mind.

His wish was granted.

Hermione's scream cut through the din, and Draco felt his brain quiet, running towards her before he could even register what was going on.

* * *

Hermione looked over at Draco's office door for the twentieth time that day. Thank Merlin he'd been so busy all morning - she had needed the space to sort out the distracting impulses that were shooting through her body.

After last night's lightening-fast orgasm, plus another one before her morning shower, and then another one post-shower for good measure, she was feeling genuinely spooked by the sudden re-awakening of her sex drive. Not that she was complaining exactly, but this wasn't the norm for her, and fantasizing about the person who was essentially both her boss and her friend was extremely unnerving. Perhaps it was time for her to start dating. There must be a wizard out there who wouldn't mind being used for sex. _Anything_ to get these urges under control.

As if that wasn't enough, this upcoming lunch was looming over her consciousness like a dark cloud. Sitting down with an ice queen and a Pureblood supremicist was going to test her patience, even if they were inviting her over as a gesture of good faith. Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:30. They were due at the Manor in ten minutes. She'd been burying herself in work to make the time pass, but now she found herself wishing for a little extra. How does one prepare to walk into the lion's den, exactly? While she had never approved of Draco's treatment by the public after the War, his parents were a slightly different case. It was _their_ beliefs that roped their son into serving Voldemort,_ their_ beliefs that allowed them to watch her being tortured on their parlour floor. Had they seen the error of their ways the way Draco had? It was anyone's guess, really. If they still clung to their old views, this already-awkward lunch would quickly become intolerable.

With a resigned sigh, Hermione pulled her trusty hand mirror out of her desk drawer to check that she at least looked presentable. Not bad - the dark circles that had become a permanent fixture on her face were now gone. It was nice not the have to rely on glamour charms anymore for that. Maybe there was hope for her yet. Even her hair was looking healthier. An errant curl fell in front of her eyes and she pulled it back, taking one last look at her reflection.

She screamed.

Draco was at her side so quickly, she wasn't even sure how he had managed it.

"What is it?" he panted, his eyes jumping around the room.

"I can't believe this!" she cried, squinting at the mirror.

"Hermione! Explain please! You can't scream like that and then leave me hanging!"

"Sorry, sorry," she said, flinching slightly when something twitched in her chest. "I think the stress is getting to me, that's all."

"How so?" he said, sharply.

"I... I believe I'm actually going grey," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Here, at my temples. I'm not even twenty-five!"

"I thought you were in trouble!" he groaned. "You scared me, and you're just fretting about your hair?"

"Well look!" she said, checking the mirror again. "Actually, it's not even grey. I've gone straight to white!"

Draco froze. His stomach dropped. "Did you say... White hair?"

"I can't even just pull them out... There are too many! I swear to God they weren't there yesterday... I'm going to have to dye them! Oh bollocks, what a pain."

"They wouldn't by chance be... Sort of... Platinum, would they?" he asked, nervously, trying not to stare.

"I don't know, Draco! Whatever they are, they don't belong on my head!" she cried.

Draco sat down abruptly on an overturned box next to Hermione and dropped his head into his hands. _So it was true_. The Gregales trait, the real reason behind this roller-coaster of emotion, the possibility that... No, the _fact_ that Hermione was his destined partner... It was all true. Even the impossible had happened: her trademark hair was starting to change. And she had no idea what was going on.

_Oh my God_. Panic flooded Draco's body. This was all wrong. Hermione was finally off the drugs. She finally felt in control of her life, of her destiny. What would she say when she found out her future was mapped out as his mate? She would never accept it. She'd leave him. She'd fight it the whole way just out of principle. All she had wanted since the War was some fucking agency, some bloody say in where her future lay. Now something new and inescapable was being added to the mix.

How could he proceed without having everything blow up in his face?

An idea came to him.

She could never find out the truth. Ever. He could be clever about it... Actually court her properly. Let their feelings grow without forcing it. They could take it slowly... Be a proper couple before they discussed any sort of future together. She'd never have to know they were fated for one another.

It wasn't a perfect solution, but it would have to do. Anything else would be an absolute disaster.

"Fuck," he breathed. "I can't believe this."

"Tell me about it," she moaned, not realizing they were now discussing completely different things. She examined the soft, pale hairs that accented each temple, a stark contrast from the warm brown surrounding them. "I don't like to think of myself as being overly conceited, but it just seems to soon for this."

"I agree," he said, staring blankly at the floor. "Much too soon." That must be why he couldn't stomach the idea of Blaise setting him up with someone, why the thought of Hermione with the Weasel made him want to fucking die. He was hers, and she was his. Or she might be his if she didn't run away. It was oddly fitting, actually... Malfoy women were infamously stubborn.

Malfoy women. Oh God, is this was indeed true, Hermione was destined to be a Malfoy. His father was going to have a fucking fit. And his mother...

His mother must know. Why else tell him about the trait? Why else plant that seed? Why else go to the trouble of leaving that potion for Hermione? Malfoys don't go to those lengths for anyone but family. That conniving, sneaky, brilliant woman. Draco was at once furious and impressed. _That's_ what this lunch was about... She wanted to see how things were progressing. She wanted to meet the newest Malfoy.

"What about when I start dating again? How am I supposed to explain this?"

"Dating?" Draco said, looking at her with alarm. "Are you... Are you planning on dating people?"

"Well, eventually," she shrugged. "Obviously not anytime soon. The mess with Ron sort of soured me on the idea in general, but I'd like to think there's someone out there who's a better match for me." She decided to leave out the part about having excessive sexual energy that very clearly needed to be burned off. He didn't really need to know the sorts of things she imagined him doing to her. Again. And again. And again.

Her eyes slid down towards his mouth, noting the hint of a snarl that was forming on his perfect lips.

Oh, the things she could do with - _STOP IT HERMIONE_.

Draco's fists clenched and unclenched several times, his jaw tensing angrily, his pulse hammering in his veins. He needed to stay calm, he couldn't just explode, but he also couldn't let a comment like that slide without interjecting. Dating? _Dating?_ She clearly wasn't as deep in as he was, or the very idea would make her feel ill.

She had been staring at him with a funny look on her face, but jolted out of it and was now fidgeting with her hands.

"You don't think it's a bit too soon to be considering that?" he said, trying to keep his voice even.

"What, dating?" she said, puzzled. "Perhaps. It's not a serious plan or anything. I just don't want to completely give up on relationships on account of things going so badly with Ron."

"I agree that you shouldn't give up, but honestly Hermione, Weasley was and remains an imbecile," Draco said, looking at her with utmost seriousness. "If you are going to date, you need someone worthy."

She snorted with amusement. "Thanks for the sentiment, but let's be honest, Draco. I have a history of drug abuse. I'm a know-it-all, as you love to remind me. I'm a bookworm. Now I can tick off premature ageing as well. Not a great deal to be worthy of."

"Don't sell yourself short," he said with that same serious tone. "You have plenty to offer. My father used to tell me that when he met my mother, he thought she was the most controlling, damaged, brilliant woman he'd ever met. He still ended up falling for her."

"I guess he liked the idea of a challenge," Hermione said.

"Malfoy women are always a challenge," he replied, knowing the hint would be lost on her. "It's just the way the family works."

"And Malfoy men?"

He thought about it. "Difficult, as you could have guessed. Stubborn." He took a breath, amazed at what he was about to reveal, even if she wouldn't understand. "But they are absolute putty in the hands of the women."

"Huh. Your parents must be interesting people," she said, trying to imagine Lucius Malfoy being putty in anyone's hands. Seemed ludicrous. The man was about as warm as a bloody viper.

"You have no idea," he muttered. "Speaking of which, we'd best get going. I have a feeling my parents will be very keen on speaking with you."

"You think?" she said. "I thought this was just a token gesture, to be honest."

"Oh, I don't know... I wouldn't be surprised if they are genuinely interested in getting to know you better."

"Hmm." Hermione tried not to look too uncomfortable at the thought.

"Don't worry," he said, shooting her a smile as he stood up. "They will behave."

"I'm not worried about that," she lied, standing up with him.

He gave her a disbelieving look.

"Fine, I'm a little worried," she sighed, rubbing the scar on her arm absent-mindedly. Draco cringed at the gesture.

"I know they haven't been good to you in the past, but they are trying to turn over a new leaf. You might be surprised at how welcoming they can be."

"I hope you're right," she said.

"I know I'm right," he replied. Oh yes, they would behave. Malfoys protected their own, and as of this moment, Hermione was one of them.

Merlin help them all.

* * *

Narcissa stood by the window, looking out towards the main gate with stone-faced focus. Lucius watched her from across the room.

"'Cissa, they will be here any minute," he said, calmly. "Could you please try to relax? We still don't know whether or not we're dealing with the real thing here. You could be fretting for nothing."

"You may not have decided, but I have," she replied. "I know it's her."

"We shall see," he said. "I remain to be convinced."

"With the addiction gone, if she is one of us, the symptoms will be accelerating. I remember the feeling extremely well - I will be able to tell if she is affected."

"And if she's not?"

"Then I will admit that I am wrong."

Lucius walked up to Narcissa with a wry smile, tilting her chin up with his fingers and giving her an amused look.

"Darling, you have never been wrong about anything."

"Correct answer," said Narcissa, pecking him on the lips. "At any rate, once she finds out the truth, and once the surprise wears off, I think she will be quite pleased. The Malfoy name is old and prestigious, especially because of her recent efforts. You remember when I found out, of course."

"You couldn't wait to get married," Lucius said, smirking at the memory.

"I waited two days. I think that was more than generous."

They both shivered at the same time, and a CRACK could be heard off in the distance.

"They're here!" she said, excitedly.

"Don't expect me to fall over myself to greet her," he said with a slight sneer.

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes. "You don't fall over yourself for anyone."

"Except you, darling," he said with a smirk, following her out of the room.

"Correct answer," he heard her reply.


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hello darlings! Okay, here's the deal. I get on a plane tomorrow at 6am. I will try to update at 5am providing nothing goes horribly wrong. I will also bring my laptop so I can update while I'm away providing nothing goes horribly wrong. If you don't see a weekday update, something went horribly wrong, or I got lost wandering the streets of New York, never to return. Dramatic, hey? Please review like mad, because I'm doing my very best to keep up my end of the bargain. Wink wink._

_This chapter: DUDES! SHIT GOES DOWN! OMFG!_

_xo_

* * *

Hermione shivered as she walked down the stone pathway leading to the Manor. Was it always cold and foreboding here? Not that she was an expert on the old building, not by a long shot, but for whatever reason, it seemed perpetually dreary. Draco walked next to her, quiet and lost in his thoughts, a look of deep concentration on his face. Something serious was occupying his mind, she could tell. Best not to break the silence. Besides, she could use the time to prepare herself for this bizarre lunch date.

They approached the black gate, and Draco raised his hand, not slowing down. The gate opened for them, creaky and rickety, like it was about to change its mind and snap closed again. Draco placed his hand on the small of her back to usher her through.

"That gate has a mind of its own sometimes," he said in explanation, glancing over at her. She smiled in response, secretly relishing the contact. Funny, but she found his touch so comforting now. Her sixteen-year-old self would never have believed it.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "This place isn't as bad as it seems."

As if on cue, a ray of sun cut through the clouds, and then another. Hermione looked up with surprise.

"I thought it was just about to rain," she said. "I definitely didn't expect to see the sun!"

"It's safe to say you can expect the unexpected today," he murmured as they approached the main doors. He snapped his fingers and she heard something unlock. Ever chivalrous, he opened the door for her and let her walk in first, his hand resting on the small of her back almost immediately after to assure her he wasn't far behind.

"My mother is all about details," he whispered in her ear. "It's just her way. Don't let it alarm you. My father loves to come across as cold and disapproving. Same rule applies."

"Okay," she said. "And if they just genuinely hate me?"

"That won't be an issue, dear," said a voice.

Hermione looked up with red cheeks, feeling silly from being overheard by Narcissa of all people. Both she and Lucius were standing at the base of the stairs, looking every inch as she remembered them from the War.

Except one thing had changed. Narcissa was smiling. The woman's eyes travelled from Hermione's face to her hair, and then down to where Draco's hand rested on Hermione's back. Her smile grew ever so slightly.

"It's truly a pleasure to meet you under more pleasant circumstances, Miss Granger," said Narcissa.

"Likewise," Hermione said, keeping her voice strong. She would not let herself be intimidated here. Not that it seemed to be much of an issue - having Draco's mother smiling freely at her was puzzling, but encouraging. Lucius, on the other hand, had his face in a permanent scowl. He noticed her looking at him and nodded, brusquely.

"Miss Granger," he said.

"Sir," she replied curtly, nodding out of what little respect she could muster.

Draco's thumb brushed gently over her spine and she fought her eyes to keep from fluttering shut. Thank Circe he was there. She would be a right ball of nerves otherwise.

It would be nice if he could do that thing with his thumb again. Just to keep her calm, of course.

"Lunch is nearly ready," said Narcissa. "Might I suggest that we take our tea in the garden beforehand?"

"Certainly, mother," Draco said, he and Hermione fell into step behind Lucius and Narcissa. Hermione caught his eye as they walked, trying not to betray her uneasiness at being in the old house again. He winked at her, keeping his face otherwise impassive. She grinned in response.

"So Miss Granger," said Narcissa as they approached a white table with matching chairs in the garden. The tea was already set out. "Lucius and I owe you a great deal of thanks for helping our Draco with the business the way you have. I had lost hope that the Malfoy name would ever be accepted in society again."

"There's no need to thank me," Hermione replied, accepting a cup from Narcissa. "Draco saved my life. I will always be there to help him in whatever way I can."

"Draco has never been much of a friend to you before now, Miss Granger," said Lucius, coolly. "Wouldn't it be more likely that you will soon consider your debt paid and leave him to run the business without you?"

Hermione bristled. "I resent the implication that I would cut and run. A life debt is just that: it's for life. I have no intention of leaving Draco unless he requests it of me, and frankly, I probably wouldn't listen if he did."

Narcissa covered her mouth to hide a smile while Lucius glared at her.

"I see," he said. "You seem to feel quite strongly about this."

"I feel strongly about doing the right thing. I always have," she replied. "You may remember that about me, _sir_."

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her, and Hermione swore she could feel the temperature dip. "Indeed I do," he seethed.

"That's quite enough, Lucius," Narcissa said, unsmiling now and very much not amused. "Miss Granger is our guest and she will be treated accordingly."

"My apologies," Lucius said with a forced smile. "So Miss Granger, Draco tells us that you have gotten the business out of debt and fixed nearly all its other problems. That's very impressive."

"I think it just needed an outsider perspective," Hermione said, reminding herself to keep her temper. "I had some valuable connections and made use of them. No magic involved, really."

Suddenly, all three Malfoys shivered. Narcissa frowned.

"Are we expecting someone, dear?" she said to Lucius. "Someone just moved past our wards."

"Not as far as I know," Lucius replied, looking perturbed. "They won't be able to get in the house though, not without our permission." Draco tensed up beside Hermione, and everyone looked back towards the building.

Narcissa closed her eyes and concentrated. Hermione watched her with interest. Was it possible that Narcissa had a bit of Sight in her? She certainly knew how to hone in on her intuition. "They are coming around the back. They will be here momentarily," Narcissa said. Hermione made a mental note to ask her how she could track the person's movements. What a fascinating ability. Footsteps echoed nearby, and she slipped her hand around the hilt of her wand just in case. Judging by how tense the Malfoys were, they probably didn't have many friendly visitors over the years.

"I know you're here, Hermione Granger," said an angry female voice. Hermione exchanged a confused look with Draco. They were here for _her?_ Someone stepped out from behind the hedge, eyes blazing with fury.

"Stacey McLorrow," said Hermione, something funny shifting inside of her. The trepidation she felt at being in the Manor, the uncertainty, the nerves, all gone. Now she just felt blunt ferocity at the person who was intruding. The fact that Stacey had her claws into Ron wasn't really what rubbed Hermione the wrong way... It's that she used that advantage to ruin Draco. It was completely unacceptable. "What brings you here?"

"You know damn well what brings me here, you sneaky little bitch," said Stacey, the air around her crackling with rage. "I just received your nonsense legal papers."

"Legal papers?" said Draco, looking to Hermione.

"Don't play dumb, Draco," Stacey sneered. "I'm sure it was you who asked her to do it."

"Do what, you fucking cow?" he asked, angrily. "And what the hell makes you think you can just waltz in here and insult Hermione?"

"Draco had nothing to do with it, Stacey," Hermione said, calmly. "I built the case, I paid the lawyer, I wrote the letters, and I will prosecute you to the full extent of the law on behalf of Trebax."

"Explanation please?" Draco said, looking between the two women.

"Yes, I think we'd all be curious to know," said Lucius, looking oddly intrigued at the situation playing out in front of him.

"It's simple, actually. Stacey used illegally-gotten information that contained Draco and Blaise's intellectual property," said Hermione, matter-of-factly. "I was able to track the recorded data from the toy and link it directly to the plans she stole. Ron will pay separately for his role in all of this, but as for Stacey, Trebax is suing her for every cent she made off the flexible brooms and then for additional damages."

"We are?" Draco said, in awe.

"Yes, we are. And we will win. There are many cases that have already set a precedent for this sort of theft. We are on the right side."

"Brilliant," said Narcissa, nodding with approval.

"You are not and you will not!" Stacey cried. "How dare you try to punish me for being good at business. You're just angry that your former fiance now belongs to me!"

"Good at business?" Hermione laughed dryly. "As far as my research tells me, the flexible brooms were your only money-maker over the last two years. You're not good at business - you're not even particularly good at theft." Stacey's mouth dropped open in shock at Hermione's candor. "As for Ron, Stacey, I'm sorry to break it to you, but I'm not sad that you're with him. I think you deserve each other. There was a time when I thought we could make each other happy, and I was never more wrong. I suppose everything happens for a reason."

"Oh, how positively zen of you!" Stacey said, rolling her eyes. "Just because you've moved on with your Death Eater boss, you think you're above me."

"What? Moved on with Draco? How do you figure?" Hermione frowned.

"Come on," Stacey scoffed. "Do you really mean to tell me that you two aren't involved? Everyone in England is talking about it. I saw the picture in the paper."

"I was holding her up!" Draco protested, annoyed at having to defend himself again, and furious at being called a Death Eater. "She wasn't feeling well!"

"That's shite!" Stacey said, clearly getting worked up again. "I'm through with your lies. You will not take everything I have worked so hard to build. Trebax should have fallen apart long ago. Shame on you for helping Death Eaters, Hermione! You should know better!"

"Draco ceased being a Death Eater when the War ended!" Hermione shot back. "Shame on you for making his reintegration as difficult as possible! Or do you not want to encourage those who've had a change of heart?"

"You think he's had a change of heart? What a laugh! Your judgement is clouded! Don't you see what's going on? Ron told me how he was talking about you right before he beat him to a pulp. He said he'd commit murder if Ron ever hurt you again. That's what you're defending? Some violent prick with a possessive streak?"

"Is that true?" said Hermione, looking at Draco with wide eyes, a warm feeling spreading through her body.

"Yes," he said, uncomfortably. "I didn't want to upset you, so I didn't mention it."

"I understand," she said, quietly. "And I appreciate the gesture."

"You do?" he said, relieved.

"Look at you two!" Stacey cried. "You can't possibly convince me that you aren't together. And sitting here with two senior Death Eaters? What's the plan then... Is Lucius going to have you for lunch?"

"Watch your tone, young lady," Lucius said, far too calmly for anyone's comfort. "Miss Granger is our guest."

"Fuck you," Stacey spat. "And fuck your family. I know what you really are. You say you aren't with Draco, Hermione? Then I suppose you won't mind if I do_ this!_"

Stacey raised her wand and opened her mouth, but got no further. Hermione moved so quickly that neither Draco, Narcissa or Lucius were even able to get their wands out in time. With a blur of movement, Hermione disarmed Stacey, knocked her down, and stood over her, foot on the girl's throat. Hermione's expression was uncharacteristically dark, her wand pointed at Stacey's head.

"What curse were you about to throw at him?" she asked, her hand shaking with anger. "Were you playing for fun or for pain? Answer me!"

Stacey didn't respond, her eyes bulging with fear, choking sounds coming out of her mouth from the pressure Hermione was putting on her throat. She scrambled to move but was completely pinned down.

"You come to where you aren't welcome, spew vile threats at me, insult the Malfoys, make accusations that aren't true, and then you try to harm Draco? What exactly were you hoping would come of this?"

"Piss off," Stacey rasped.

"I will piss off when _you_ deal with the consequences of your actions," Hermione said. "The next time I see you will be in court. If you so much as look at Draco the wrong way again, I will find you. Understand?"

Stacey nodded as best she could with Hermione's shoe digging into her neck.

"Good," Hermione said, removing her foot. "Now leave."

The girl stumbled to her feet and ran off, hair streaming behind her, rough coughs echoing through the peaceful garden.

Hermione watched her disappear, her hands shaking slightly as the adrenaline rushed through her body. What... What _was_ that? Where did that come from? She turned back towards the table, suddenly acutely aware that Draco, Narcissa and Lucius were all staring at her. _Fuck_. How was she going to explain this? The urge to protect Draco from Stacey's attack took over all her other impulses, and she reacted without thinking. She must look completely unhinged. Her eyes flitted over their faces. Draco seemed shocked. Lucius wore his characteristic pensive frown. Narcissa seemed... Impressed?

"Damn," whispered Lucius.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice wavering. "I just need a moment."

Quickly turning on her heel, she ran back into the house, determined to find a quiet space to clear her mind. What on earth had she done? Granted, Stacey was a particularly vile brand of bitch, but Hermione had never responded that aggressively to anyone. Was she ill? Something felt different, it was certain. She couldn't keep chalking this up to her newfound sobriety. Something was very wrong with her.

Draco watched her turn and run, and he stood up abruptly, determined to follow. Narcissa waved him down.

"Sit, Draco," she said. "She needs to be alone for a moment."

"She needs me," he said, wincing as the words came out of his mouth. "She needs my help," he clarified.

"She needs a lot of things right now," said Narcissa, firmly. "Time to think is one of them."

"I know about the potion," he said, accusingly. "I know what you did."

"Then you must also know that I mean her no harm," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "I simply took her addiction out of the equation. You shouldn't be upset just because I've done something helpful."

"But _why_ did you do it?" he asked, frustrated. "Why go out of your way to help someone we all allowed to be tortured last time she was here? That makes no sense!"

Narcissa glared at Draco for bringing up what was clearly a sore point with her. "I think you know why, Draco. Because I suspect she's not just an outsider in our lives anymore. Now sit down."

He obeyed, fuming, clearly struggling with the fact that Hermione was alone in the house.

"That potion could have been anything," he snapped. "She could have died. You didn't even have the decency to tell me what you were up to."

"I didn't tell you because you would have lectured me for meddling. As as for the potion, why did she drink it then? She's a smart girl," Narcissa countered.

"Because she thought it was from me," Draco muttered.

"I suspected as much," Narcissa replied, satisfied. "She trusts you implicitly."

Lucius looked between his wife and his son and sighed, stirring his tea. First he had been wrong about the girl, and now his son and his wife were arguing. This simply wouldn't do. Given the seriousness of the situation, there were more important things to discuss. Apparently someone was going to have to bridge the divide here.

"So tell me, son," he said, conversationally, pretending the discussion was perfectly normal. "Have you fallen for the girl?"

Draco didn't respond, staring back towards the house. Lucius took his silence as an affirmation.

"Does she feel the same way about you?" he asked, dropping in a lump of sugar.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Fairly."

"That little display just now might indicate otherwise," Lucius said, eyeing his son carefully.

"She was talking about dating people this morning," Draco said, sounding dejected. "People who aren't me."

"Impossible!" said Narcissa, looking affronted.

"Dear, please," said Lucius, impatiently. "I think it's clear that while Miss Granger is affected my the Gregales, she's not at the same point as Draco just yet."

Draco's jaw dropped as he stared bug-eyed at his father. "You know about the trait?"

"Draco," Lucius tsked. "How do you think your mother and I ended up marrying so young? One minute I was a Pureblooded bachelor and the next I was ready to rip out the intestines of any wizard that touched a hair on your mother's head."

"But... But..."

"Yes yes, it's very rare," Lucius said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I was extremely doubtful when your mother told me her suspicions about you two, but I'm afraid I can't really deny that both you and Miss Granger are displaying all the signs."

"Hah!" cackled Narcissa, proudly. Lucius rolled his eyes.

"Her hair started to change this morning," Draco admitted, quietly. Narcissa gasped excitedly.

"My my," Lucius said, his eyebrows raised. "You really have gotten under her skin. That happened quickly."

"It doesn't matter," Draco said, dropping his head into his hands. "She will never accept it. She will never accept this... This _thing_."

"How so?" Lucius frowned.

"You don't know her like I do. She's stubborn - infamously stubborn. She will never want to be with me just because some weird magical trait connects us. She will hate not having control."

"I think you misunderstand how the Gregales works," Lucius said. "It doesn't just choose arbitrarily. It takes two people who already have the ability to love each other and unites their destinies. You would have fallen for Miss Granger at some point, Draco. The trait speeds things up."

"She won't see it that way," Draco said. "And since you mention it, how is that even possible? Hermione and I hated each other when we were in school. We ignored each other after the War. What's this nonsense about the ability to love each other? We only had the ability to piss each other off until now."

"Your mother and I hated each other in school as well," Lucius said, sipping his tea. "She thought I was an entitled, egotistical maniac."

"Well, you were, darling," Narcissa said, examining her nails.

"And I thought she was a spoiled, headstrong, unbalanced..." - Narcissa sent a venomous look in Lucius's direction - "Queen."

"Nice save," Draco said, mildly amused despite his worry.

"Suffice it to say, without getting into any gushing details, the trait was absolutely correct about our compatibility. Your mother and I are extremely well-matched, regardless of what we used to think."

Narcissa sent an affectionate smile to Lucius, clearly enjoying the change in the conversation.

Draco frowned. What his father was describing actually did sound a lot like what was happening between him and Hermione.

"What I'm trying to say, son, is that no matter your old relationship with Miss Granger, for whatever reason, you are discovering your true potential now. I realize that you are further along, but she just needs a little more time. Control is well and good, but sometimes fate keeps marching to its inevitable conclusion."

"But that's the problem," Draco said, shaking his head. "Hermione doesn't want an inevitable conclusion. This will just freak her out. She needs to feel like she has some say in things."

"Is this whole preoccupation with control tied into her drug problem, Draco?" asked Narcissa.

"Mother!" he scolded. "Honestly! That's confidential!"

"Don't raise your voice at me," she huffed. "Besides, it's not much of a secret. Your father knows."

"Now 'Cissa, it's natural for Draco to feel protective over his mate's secrets," Lucius said. "It's also natural for Miss Granger to desire some sense of agency in her own life."

"Please don't call her that," Draco pleaded. "Look, I have a plan, okay? She can't find out. I'll court her properly. Ask her out for dinner, let us get to know each other again, not rush. She'll like that. If she falls for me, it has to be on her terms. Otherwise she'll panic."

"That's a waste of time," Narcissa sniffed. "When I found out about the Gregales, I couldn't wait to marry your father. With the addiction out of her system, there is nothing stopping her from progressing quickly and taking what is rightfully hers."

"But Hermione could not be more different from you," he said, seriously, praying his parents would understand. "She needs things to feel normal for once. Since the War, all she's done is run from stressful situations. Her parents went missing, and they were never found. Her best friend moved away. Her boyfriend fucked around on her. Nothing went right. She needs a goddamn break. The last thing she wants to hear is that she's got no choice over the rest of her romantic future."

"She's strong, Draco," Narcissa said, dismissively. "I'm sure she'll be more than able to cope."

"Perhaps you missed the last five years of her life, mother, but her coping mechanisms suffered a bit of a blow," Draco growled. "I know what she needs, and I'm telling you... She can't find out about the trait. Not yet, anyway. There's no debating this, unless you want to spook her and have her run away. Would you like that? Would you like to test the resolve of this particular Gryffindor? We would all lose her. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"Darling," Lucius said to Narcissa, who was starting to look uncomfortable. "Perhaps Draco is right. There's no harm in letting things happen a little more slowly, even if we know the outcome. The girl has been through a lot. If she needs to have some control, we should trust Draco's intuition and let him do this the way he wants to. That means no telling her about the trait, no rushing the process, no pressure."

Narcissa's eyes darted back to the house and she bit the inside of her cheek.

"What's wrong?" said Draco, picking up on his mother's sudden nervousness.

"If everything you say is true, then you need to find her quickly, Draco," Narcissa said.

"Why?" said Draco, already rising to his feet and ready to run. "Is she in danger?"

"No, but I just realized where she wandered off to. She's talking to my portrait."


	16. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_I'm leeeeeaving on a jet plane... In four hours. And I'm still packing. So here's your update a bit early! Fingers crossed I'll still be able to update while I'm gone!_

_I want to say SO MUCH about this chapter, but if I do, then I'll just be giving everything away... So I'll shut up and let you read. *offers you virtual shoulder to cry on, because you may need it* xo_

* * *

Hermione walked quickly through the old hallway, trying to ignore the intimidating portraits that were glaring down at her. They were all whispering, passing word along as she sped by, always a few steps ahead of her.

"Just lovely," she whispered to herself, fighting back tears. "I'm alone in the Manor of all places, surrounded by at least five generations of disapproving Malfoys, trying to figure out if I'm going crazy."

"You're not going crazy, darling," said a voice.

Hermione jumped and looked around. There was nobody else in the hallway with her, but that sounded very much like Narcissa's voice.

"Keep walking," said the voice, pleasantly. "I'm down near the end."

Cautiously, Hermione peered in the direction of the voice and noticed a small nook where the hallway ended. Deciding that she really had nothing to lose, other than her life, if things went wrong, she might as well have a look.

"You really are as pretty as they said," came the voice as she neared the portrait. It was in an ornate gold frame, decadent and heavy with swirling lines. In the frame sat a stunning young woman who looked strikingly like Narcissa, except this woman had black hair.

"I'm sorry but… Who's _they_?" said Hermione, trying not to stare at the beautiful woman. Whoever she was, she seemed equally as interested in Hermione, standing up from her stool and moving as close as she could.

"The portraits," the woman whispered with a smile. "I know they seem disapproving, but they're really quite excited. We've been waiting for you to visit ever since Draco came by looking so smitten."

"Draco is not smitten," Hermione said, her cheeks heating up. "He's my friend."

"That's what I said about Lucius too," shrugged the woman. "Didn't last long. I fell for him very fast, although not quite as quickly as he fell for me." She winked at Hermione cheekily.

"You're Narcissa Malfoy?"

"I am indeed," she said. "Although technically, when this was painted, I was still Narcissa Black."

"But… The Narcissa from now… Her hair is blonde," Hermione said, confused. "Almost white."

"Yes, well, being the destined true love of a Malfoy changes one's hair, dear," said Narcissa, casually. "Mine changed a few weeks after this was painted."

Hermione paled, a sinking feeling grabbing hold of her stomach. "Did you say... You hair changed? How is that possible?" she whispered, terror showing in her face.

"Oh, do you not know yet?" said the portrait, gleefully. "How exciting! Let me explain it this way. Some people are lucky enough to marry a Malfoy because they fall in love, or their families are a good match, or the marriage helps someone's career. Others, like you and I, get the sort of love that's written in the stars. We are the luckiest of all."

"Stars?" Hermione echoed, feeling lightheaded. "Lucky? How?"

"The Malfoy family has a trait that gets passed down in the bloodline. Every now and then, a Malfoy will meet their proper mate, someone they are destined for. The trait bonds the two people, so courtship is usually very fast and intense. Either way, you end up with a pair that is truly meant to be together."

"But what does that have to do with hair?" said Hermione, confused.

"Say two gingers have a child… The child is probably going to be a ginger, correct?"

Hermione nodded.

"This is a magical trait, but it works much in the same way as something passed down by blood. White-blonde hair is a marker of the Malfoy family. When someone finds their mate, and the connection is genuine, the mate becomes part of the family. Hence the changing of the hair. Doesn't happen all that often, but then again, you and I have always been rather special women. Quite fitting that we would be chosen. Our destinies are mapped out for us. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful?" Hermione said, trying to contain the sense of dread that was spreading through her. "I don't want my destiny to be mapped out for me!"

"Oh, pish tosh darling," said the portrait, missing the look of anxiety on Hermione's face. "Being a Malfoy is a tremendous honour. We are like the kings and queens of your Muggle world. Think of it as becoming royalty! First your hair will change, then you'll start to feel a protective bond... It's all very quick. I got married almost immediately after the process started."

"Married?" Hermione gaped, thinking back to how protective she felt when Stacey threatened Draco. "I'm not ready for that! Draco and I aren't even seeing each other!"

"You don't have to be dating to be in love," shrugged the portrait.

"Who said anything about love?" Hermione protested. "As I told you before, we are friends, and recent ones at that."

"Are you sure?" the portrait said, sceptically. "Because I can tell you that there's absolutely no way a Malfoy would have saved your life that night otherwise. We aren't really wired to care about the masses."

Hermione glared at the flippant nature of the portrait's comments. "First of all, Draco is a good man at heart, and that's the reason saved me. Secondly, we weren't even friends before that happened, and he certainly wasn't in love with me. You can even ask him. I'm sure you're mistaken."

"Don't feel badly dear," the portrait said, unconcerned with Hermione's argument. "He probably didn't know it either. As I understand it, he was quite shocked when he found out about the trait."

A painful twinge in her chest made Hermione flinch. "He knew?"

"Oh yes. Myself and Lucius too. We were very curious to meet you today."

"That's why I'm here?" she cried. "But this is completely mental! I will not have my life dictated by some supposed magical bond! For goodness sakes, Draco and I are not destined for each other. We hated each other at Hogwarts!"

"Oh my, that I understand," Narcissa said, rolling her eyes. "Lucius was such an entitled prick in school I couldn't stand to be anywhere near him. Thought he was God's gift to the world."

"So how did that change so drastically?" Hermione said.

"He was a different man on the inside. Very caring, very noble, although you never would have guessed it. Found out the same way you did with Draco: he saved my life."

"How?" Hermione asked, amazed at the conversation she was having.

"How indeed! I had developed a rather nasty habit, if you know what I mean."

"Excuse - "

"Did you know that Lucius and I were both competitive duelists when we met?" said the portrait, interrupting her.

Hermione shook her head.

"He never bested me, of course," she said, proudly. "I was the top ranked in all of Europe. But I let the competition get to me, and pushed myself too hard. I started taking an energizing potion so that I could sleep less and train more. Horribly addictive stuff, as it turns out. I couldn't stop taking it. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't eat. My body started to shut down. Lucius started noticing the difference and intervened. I nearly died from it."

"How awful!" Hermione said, astounded at the similarities between the two of them. Suddenly, a light bulb went off in her mind. "How did you recover from your addiction?" she asked, suspiciously.

"I learned how to make a rather curious potion," Narcissa said. "It removes all of the addictive substance from your body. It's lovely, actually. Such a peculiar colour – "

"Bright blue?" said Hermione.

"Why yes!" said Narcissa. "Have you tried it? Quite rare, actually. Not many people know how to make it."

"Someone left me a bottle and I drank it," Hermione said. "I think it might have been your older self."

"Sounds like something she would do," said the young Narcissa, looking annoyed. "I'm a bit miffed that she didn't tell me her plan, but I suppose she was trying to respect your privacy. She's of the opinion that I can be a bit of a loudmouth. Always tells me I need to grow up." The portrait pouted for emphasis.

Hermione kept quiet but silently agreed with the assessment of the older Narcissa. The portrait in front of her was a good example of how people changed over time. While she didn't know the older Narcissa very well, she had gathered enough of an impression to judge the difference. The Narcissa Malfoy of today was wiser, stronger, and quieter than her younger self. Her plans were secret. Strategies were carefully calculated in advance. She would never have divulged this much sensitive information so quickly. She probably also would have been able to see that Hermione was uncomfortable with the issue and backed off. The portrait? Far too excitable to notice.

"My guess is that she wanted the addiction out of the equation so that your body could catch up with the effect of the trait," the portrait babbled. "Draco's obviously been feeling it. Poor boy thought he was going insane. Wanted to strangle everyone that hurt you."

Well, he wasn't alone in feeling crazy. Low level panic was churning in Hermione's stomach. This situation was the sheer definition of madness. Part of her didn't want to believe this bond existed, but another part of her already knew it was true. The strange things that had been happening to her since last night were the proof.

"The good news is that with the addiction gone, your body and mind can focus 100% on Draco," the portrait said, cheerfully, breaking through Hermione's thoughts. "You can marry as early as next week, if you want. You won't be able to keep yourself away from him before long. You'll come stay here at the Manor, of course, as all Malfoys do. The wedding can happen in the garden. Your children will be a charm. Oh, this will be just lovely..."

Something snapped in Hermione's mind.

"Enough."

The portrait slowed, a confused frown crossing her face. She seemed to finally notice Hermione's lack of excitement over the news she had been dumping on her.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there will be no wedding next week, if ever."

The portrait opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione continued. "Draco is a very special person. I trust him, I care about him, and one day, maybe I'll love him. Maybe. But I outright _refuse_ to have my life laid out before me in the name of some archaic tradition. I imagine Draco feels the same way. What I will do next is take some time - alone - to think about what you've told me. I will weigh my options. I will decide how to proceed. Perhaps you will see me again, but perhaps not."

"Don't be silly girl... You can't outrun fate!" said the portrait, scandalized. "What an absurd suggestion! Besides, it's a huge honour to be a Malfoy! We are like - "

"Kings and queens, so you've said. But would you like to see what being a Malfoy means to me?" Hermione said, tears welling up in her eyes. She pulled her sleeve up over her scar to show it clearly, still red and irritated as though it had just been done. The portrait stared, wide-eyed. "Being a Malfoy means being able to watch someone be tortured in front of you and not make a move to stop it. It means hating people for their blood, hating enough to kill. It means bringing your innocent young son into a world of darkness and asking him to adapt. Malfoys have long been synonymous with elitism, judgement and a lack of compassion. Draco has obviously changed his ways, so maybe there's hope, but I will promise you this: I will not be called a Malfoy unless it's my explicit choice. I will not change myself to suit the family. I don't need your brand of royalty."

Shaking with emotion, Hermione took off running before the portrait could reply, tears streaming down her face. She nearly ran right into Draco, who was rounding the corner in front of her, but swerved to avoid him, picking up speed.

"Hermione!" he yelled, scrambling to change direction and catch up to her. "Slow down!"

"Leave me alone!" she yelled back, charging down the dark hallways towards the main doors.

"Please let's just talk about this!" he shouted, gaining on her as he ran. "You're obviously upset!"

She ignored him, speeding up as the doors came into sight.

"Don't just run into them!" he warned, panicked. "They only open for - "

The doors opened as she approached and she sailed though them effortlessly.

" - family," he finished, slowing down. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe this. Hermione Granger, would you fucking STOP already!"

She slowed and turned around, her eyes blazing.

"That's right," she panted. "Hermione _Granger_. Not Hermione Malfoy."

"Is that what the portrait told you?" he groaned, wiping his brow. "Look, this is all new to me too - "

"But you knew! She said you knew!"

"I found out about the trait yesterday morning and I didn't believe a word of it," he pleaded. "Not until your hair started to change, anyway. It's supposed to be extremely rare... I didn't think it would actually affect us, let alone my parents."

"You should have told me!" she cried. "This whole lunch is a farce! I'm just under the microscope!"

"Hermione, you and I only discussed your hair moments before we arrived here," he said, trying to calm her. "I didn't want to scare you over nothing. I still wasn't completely sure."

"And are you now?" she said, her chest heaving.

"All I know for sure is that I care about you," he admitted, resisting the urge to drop to his knees and start begging. _I more than care. I more than care_. _Please_ _don't leave me_. "I don't want to lose you over some dumb trick of fate. I want to do this properly."

"How?" she said, looking wild. "How can we possibly do this properly? It sounds like I'm supposed to just marry you and start having your babies tomorrow. I finally get clean and now I've got another obligation to slave after."

Draco flinched at her words. "We both know that wouldn't work for us," he said, taking a step towards her with his hands out, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. _Please don't leave me_. "And I don't want to be an obligation. I've learned the hard way about following family traditions without questioning them. We can do this the way we want."

"Everything is 'us' and 'we' with you," she growled. "What exactly do you want, Draco?"

He looked at her nervously. "I'd like to take you on a proper date. Then you can decide if you want to have another one." _Please don't leave me_.

There was a long silence as she assessed him, the tears from moments earlier drying on her cheeks and her hair curling messily in all directions.

"A date?" she breathed.

"Yes. Just something casual. Nothing stressful. See if you... If you could ever think of me in that way."

Hermione bit her tongue, tears springing to her eyes again. _Of course_ she could think of him in that way. She already felt herself slipping into extremely murky emotional territory when it came to Draco, and it would probably take all of five minutes into a date for her to step right into the red zone... But she didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction. She was _furious_, she was _exhausted_, and the days of her being at the whim of a substance, or a person, or a fucking magical bond were over. She needed to slow this thing down and give herself time to reflect before she agreed to anything.

And she knew exactly where to go.

"Let me think about it, Draco," she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she felt the sobs start to rake up her lungs. "But first, I need some space."

"Come on Hermione... No bloke alive wants to hear that," he said, trying to joke. She could see the fear in his eyes. Her heart pined for him, a creeping, aching pain infiltrating her chest, but she knew what she had to do.

"Please don't do this," he begged, seeing the conflicting emotions playing out on her face. She was right on the edge. She could go either way. "Please don't leave me."

The tears spilled down her cheeks as she made her decision. "I'm sorry, Draco," she whispered. "Please don't look for me." She turned on the spot and disapparated.

* * *

"YOU!" boomed Draco's voice in the hallway.

All the portraits murmured and whispered to each other in a flurry of worry. Lucius and Narcissa were already standing in front of the portrait with looks of deep concern on their faces. Draco stomped past the whispers and rounded on the portrait of the young Narcissa, fuming. To her credit, the portrait looked horrified.

"Where the fuck do you get off scaring her off like that?" he demanded, his cheeks flushed angrily.

"I didn't realize!" she said. "I just got excited! I mean, who doesn't want to be a Malfoy? I didn't expect her to react so badly!"

"Let me tell you something about Hermione Granger," Draco said, his voice simmering. "She is the single most stubborn woman I've ever met. If she decides to take a year or two 'think things over,' she damn well will. Now she's disappeared and she's asked me not to look for her. If she never comes back and you have lost her for me, I will personally put you in storage in the dungeons if I haven't already set you on fire."

"Draco!" said the real Narcissa. "I know you're upset, but this is my portrait we are talking about!"

"Mother, don't cross me right now, I swear to God," Draco snapped.

"Perhaps you can tell us a bit more about what she said to you," Lucius said to the portrait, calmly. "I don't think any of us wish a lifetime of crushing loneliness on Draco."

"Thanks, father," Draco muttered.

"She said she had to weigh her options," said the portrait, panicked. "She showed me a scar on her arm... Said being a Malfoy meant having a lack of compassion... She said she won't be called a Malfoy unless it's her choice to do so... Oh, she was so upset."

Lucius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The scar never healed? The one from Bella?"

"Red and awful as ever," said the portrait. "Really quite horrible."

"Damn," he whispered.

"There's something else, too. Right before she ran off, she said, 'I will not change myself to suit the family.'"

Lucius's eyes snapped open. "That's it!"

"What's it?" said Narcissa.

Lucius smiled to himself and steepled his hands. "Miss Granger has just found out that she's fated to belong to a family that has not treated her, or others, very well in the past. We need to prove that this is a family she wants to belong to. We need to change the family to suit her."

"And how do we do that?" Draco said, exasperated. "She's got a point. We're professional bullies. We tend not to like _anyone_. Hermione likes everything that moves. She's a bloody Gryffindor."

"Leave that part to me," Lucius said. "I think you'll find that being good at bad things has its advantages."

"May I ask what you're planning?" said Narcissa, curiously.

"It's a surprise," he said, kissing her hand. "Draco, I know it will be difficult, but return to the business and try to operate as normal. I'm confident Miss Granger will come back in due time."

"And you base that on what, exactly? Blind faith?" Draco growled. "Very fucking encouraging. I'll return to the business, but I'm not harbouring any illusions about Hermione coming back anytime soon. Unlike you two, I actually _know_ her." He turned and marched off, muttering under his breath.

"Do I need to be worried about where you're going?" Narcissa asked Lucius when Draco was out of sight.

"Not at all," he smiled. "Just going to visit an old friend."

"You don't have old friends, Lucius," said Narcissa, straightening his collar.

"Fine. A colleague then. Just play along, darling," he said. "I lost the wager, and now I have to make a gesture of good faith for the girl. I think you'll approve of what I'm planning to do."

"I have no doubt," she replied. "But what I'm more concerned about is whether or not the girl will come back. Draco doesn't seem to believe she will."

"The process has started," Lucius said. "She is already falling in love with Draco, whether or not she's figured it out. If she stays away, she will only torture herself and her beloved. That would be an illogical way to deal with the situation."

"Lucius, she is a Gryffindor. Everything they do is illogical. Following their hearts or some nonsense."

"Please don't remind me," he said, sounding pained. "But to answer your question, yes I believe she will come back."

"Before or after Draco succumbs to crippling heartbreak?" she asked, pointedly.

"I suppose that's the question, isn't it?" he sighed.


	17. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_I'm away on vacation! Let's hope to fuck this thing posts! Peeps, I'm not gonna lie... My internet access is INCREDIBLY sporadic and will be until Monday. Just a warning that I may not be able to put up a new chapter until then. :(_

_This chapter: we fall a little more in love with Draco (did you know that was even possible?) and we all bow down to Lucius's badassery. The ending might also give you something to think about if I am without internet for the next few days. OH YES I DID. xo_

* * *

"Mate, you're losing me," Blaise said, topping up Draco's glass of Firewhiskey. "Granger was popping pills?"

He winced as pain radiated along his cheekbone where Stacey McLorrow had knocked him out several hours prior. Apparently he had told her Hermione's location in some sort of dazed stupor. The day had been increasingly fucked up ever since.

"For years," Draco slurred, his eyes red and drooping.

They had been drinking together nearly all day, from the moment he returned from the disastrous lunch to now, when it was nearing dinnertime. At first, Draco had remained tight-lipped about the situation, insisting that he and Hermione had simply gotten into a fight and she had decided to take the rest of the day off. Now though, he was completely sloshed and his chest was starting to ache with the knowledge that Hermione was somewhere far away, confused and angry. The details were sliding out in jagged shards. Blaise, for his part, was trying his best to understand.

"Okay," Blaise said. "Let me get this straight. She got addicted after the War to cope with all the shite she had to deal with – "

"Her parents disappearing, the Weasel's infidelity, all the expectations she felt she had to live up to – "

"Right, and she hid it from everyone – "

"Not even Potter knew!" Draco exclaimed, shaking his hand for emphasis and managing to cover his feet in alcohol. "Not even Potter!"

"Right," said Blaise, being as patient as he could with Draco's drunken interruptions, given that his friend looked more upset than he had ever seen him. "So she had this big secret, because frankly, nobody would ever guess that Gryffindor's princess would be some sort of closeted addict, but you found out when you took her to the hospital – "

"And she didn't want me to tell."

"And you hired her, started to fall for her, and then found out that this wasn't your typical crush – "

"It was never just a crush!" Draco yelled to the room in general. "That witch got under my skin! It was like magic," he added, a little dimly.

" - Beat the snot out of Weasley - "

"Not sorry about that, the fucking tosser."

" – Learned more about this Malfoy trait thing, your parents got a little too enthusiastic – "

"To be fair, it was the portrait's fault."

"Your mum in the meantime had cured Hermione of the drug problem – "

"Disastrously clever woman, my mother – "

"But Hermione took the news about her apparent destiny badly - "

"Wouldn't you?"

"Ran off in a huff and told you not to look for her."

Draco nodded, his eyes glassy with booze or tears, Blaise wasn't sure.

"I'm not even sure what to tell you," Blaise said, watching his friend sink deeper and deeper into misery with every second that went by. "She's really your mate? Like, your destined partner? For life?"

"Apparently."

"And you believe this to be the truth?"

"Do you think I would care otherwise? Do you think I would be feeling like _this_?" He gestured wildly for emphasis and Firewhiskey dribbled down his wrist.

"Probably not," Blaise conceded.

Draco polished off his glass and glared at the empty cup, motioning for Blaise to give him a refill. "This is the part where you tell me I'm completely fucked."

"Why's that?" Blaise said.

"Because a large part of her drug problem came from feeling out of control, feeling like her life was being dictated for her. She said she never wanted to feel that way again. Now she's wrapped up in something that involves her destiny, of all things."

"Ah."

"Also, she's more stubborn than – "

"Than a bloody mule, I know."

"So this is the part where you tell me – "

"You're fucked."

"Thank you."

"How do your parents feel about this?"

"Surprisingly awful," Draco slurred. "My mother actually feels guilty, if you can believe it. _My mother_. I didn't think she was capable of that particular emotion. Seemed to adore Hermione, which is interesting because of, well, you know."

"Because of her absolutely drastic about-face of her views on Muggle-borns? And that whole torture thing?"

"Exactly. And my father seemed unconvinced at first, but now that he believes it, he's on some crazed mission to make things right."

"And how is he planning on doing that?"

"I haven't the faintest," Draco shrugged. "Just told us that he was going to change the family to suit Hermione."

Blaise shook his head in disbelief. "I never, _ever_ expected to hear your father say something like that about Hermione Granger. Has the world gone mad?"

"Right? Right. He seemed to be annoyed with her assertion that Malfoys lack compassion."

"But you do! All of you! It's a fact of life! You dislike everyone."

"Trust me, I know. But my father wants to show Hermione that we can be different or something. Maybe then the idea of being one of us won't freak her out so much. Don't know why he cares, honestly. I thought he hated her out of principle."

"Drake, I'm sorry, but this can't end well. Your father is the least compassionate, least cuddly, least empathetic man I know. And I don't mean that in an offensive way."

"No offence taken. It's always been a point of pride for him. I haven't a clue what he's got planned."

"Maybe he's going to hug a Ravenclaw."

"Kiss a Gryffindor."

"Help a Hufflepuff."

"Frankly, to win Granger, he'd have to snuggle a house elf."

They both snickered at the mental image of Lucius engaging in an affectionate embrace with one of his servants. Draco stopped snickering as abruptly as he started, looking forlornly into his glass.

"I can't fucking believe this is happening to me," he said. "I'm not supposed to feel things like this. I'm a _Malfoy_ for Merlin's sake. I always figured I'd have an arranged marriage for business purposes or something with one of those frigid Pureblooded women. Hermione's nothing like that. She's a hot-blooded menace. She probably thinks marriage is a tool of the patriarchy."

Blaise snorted with amusement. "I can't believe it either. The universe has a totally perverse sense of humour, matching you with a woman like Hermione."

"What do you mean, _a woman like Hermione_?" Draco said, somewhat defensively.

"I mean you two are like fire and ice. I can see the attraction, actually, and I think I understand how you two work. You either hate each other with everything you have, or you love each other with everything you have. There's almost no in between."

"Except right now," Draco said.

"Well, right now you're both falling in love, apparently."

"I meant for her. I'm already there," he mumbled.

"Really? Since when did you decide that?"

"Just now," Draco said, his voice wobbly. "I love her so much I feel like vomiting."

"That might also be the booze," Blaise said.

"Don't belittle my feelings," Draco replied. "This feels too inconvenient not to be love. I've turned into a complete sap. I could write a fucking poem about it."

"Oh Jesus, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd reached the point of poetry."

"I need her to come back."

"She will, mate. I just don't know when."

"That's not good enough. I asked her on a date. She owes me an answer."

"I'm sure she'll go on a date with you."

"But what if she doesn't? I could take her on the best date, you know. Several, even. And what if she doesn't fall in love with me?"

"I thought that wasn't an option with this Gregales thing," said Blaise, trying very hard to keep a straight face over Draco's ramblings. He had never seen the man dissolve so dramatically over a girl before.

"With my luck, maybe it is!" Draco said, looking panicked. "With my luck she'll find me so repulsive that she'd sooner die than date me! Oh my God Blaise… What if she dies?"

"Drake, listen to me," Blaise said, firmly. "You need to calm down. I've been watching you and Hermione interact and I can tell you definitively that she returns your feelings. I just don't think she's quite come to terms with it yet. She's had a lot going on. Maybe being apart from you will help her see things more clearly."

"Really?" Draco said, looking up with the slightest hint of hope in his eyes.

"Yes, really. She just needs a few days to cool off. Maybe your father's secret mission will speed things up."

"All I can say is that he'd better be doing more than hugging a house elf," Draco sniffed. "He's got the world's angriest Gryffindor on his hands. It's got to be a genuine gesture or she won't even bat an eye."

"I'm sure he's doing his best," Blaise said, quietly wondering what on earth Lucius Malfoy was planning.

* * *

Lucius dismounted his broom silently, shrinking it down to fit into the pocket of his black robe. His long hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail for travel – four hours of flying to reach this miserable, remote castle undetected seemed abominably stupid, but apparition would trigger the wards and nobody in their right mind would grant a portkey to this godforsaken place. Rodolphus Lestrange had gotten crazier and more violent over the years, and most people were just happy to leave him on the "missing" list. Nobody wanted to know that he had made it out of the War alive.

Unfortunately, he did, which meant that there was good reason to be cautious. The man was a monster, and Lucius knew all about those. The element of surprise was a necessity. His former colleague could not be awarded even a second of prep time.

Hence the plan.

On foot, Lucius would be able to walk up the rugged stone path that wound through the snarled trees and dumped out at the side door without alerting anyone to his presence. He wanted those precious few minutes to prepare himself. Rodolphus, after all, was more than a former brother-in-law. He was a Death Eater who had been truly consumed by the hate he preached so passionately. Hate was something Lucius understood, used when convenient, and worked to his advantage, but Rodolphus had bought the whole package and jumped in head first. Misery was not a tool to him; it was something he thrived on.

Perhaps it was not surprising then that he also made more people disappear than the Dark Lord's entire army combined. Something about the thrill of erasing someone's existence that called to him. It's a detail about the man that Lucius never forgot, and when Draco had mentioned that Hermione's parents vanished sometime during the War, he had a sudden itching feeling that Rodolphus was behind it somehow. The man was a sneak and a liar, and he loved to watch the fallout of his actions as the years went by. It's what kept him going. Stealing the parents of a famous War heroine would be like a feather in his cap.

The stone pathway was slippery and uneven, but Lucius walked the length of it like a king, majestic and elegant, and completely unrushed. Even when he and Narcissa were at the point of starvation, he never let his image falter. Pride was a powerful thing, and it governed him, he knew. There was no point in denying it. Lucius also knew that the world saw him as cold and self-obsessed, and they were partially correct. Malfoys were cold people by nature. It wasn't an insult; it was a fact. They didn't waste energy on little earthquakes. They were too busy orchestrating the storm.

But he wasn't self-obsessed, not exactly. He was obsessed with the very few people he cared about in the world. No matter how it might seem on the outside, he would do absolutely anything for them. He would beg. He would kill. He would let others beg to be killed if they had the misfortune to cross him. It was all the same, wasn't it? Death and such. As long as the people he loved were safe, he made no bones about his actions.

The universe knew this about Lucius. The universe also knew he was a man who had done some very bad things. That, he decided, must be the reason his son had been bonded with Hermione Granger. To humble him. To teach him how to swallow his pride for once and make an effort for an outsider.

Well, someone who used to be an outsider. Lucius could tell the bond was genuine because he was already growing fond of the girl. She was brilliant and feisty and just a little damaged, the way all Malfoy women were. If she ever came back, she would probably be the perfect partner for his son, and Lord knew his son had fallen hard. Narcissa had been right, as she usually was. Therefore, if his future daughter-in-law needed to be shown that Malfoys weren't always uncaring, it would be done. It was a fucking inconvenience, but she was kin, and he couldn't really blame her, anyway. He would probably never live down that whole torture debacle. How embarrassing.

So here he was at miserable castle in God knows where to set things straight. This was his good deed. There would be no overtures of regret, no convincing and sweet talking, no Gryffindor honour. This was a Slytherin operation through and through. Lucius was a noted psychopath in the home of another noted psychopath, and he may well have to kill someone to get the information he wanted.

He'd just have to leave out any mention of murder when he related the story to Hermione. The idea didn't seem to resonate with her the way it did with him. She was a little odd that way.

The side door came into view and Lucius sucked in a deep breath. Out went his thoughts of Narcissa. Out went his thoughts of Draco, of Hermione, of the Manor. This was war. Focus was of utmost importance if he was to get out safely.

A silent spell flitted across his mind, and the small door opened. Lucius smirked darkly. Goodness, Rodolphus was slipping in his old age. His security was positively flimsy. Well, to a Malfoy, at any rate. Lucius ducked inside. The layout was exactly as he remembered it, but the smell had gotten worse. It was as though Rodolphus had been leaving bodies to rot in here.

_Ah_, Lucius thought, scrunching his nose with distaste. That was probably exactly what the stench was. Hopefully Hermione's family had been spared, otherwise this mission was about to go very wrong.

He stretched out his mind and tried to locate the presence of his target. Something was moving in the west part of the building. He sped up, wanting to get there before Rodolphus had the good sense to do a quick sweep of the castle. Time was of the essence. This was to be a quick mission - no dallying about.

When he finally approached the room where Rodolphus sat, reclined with his back to Lucius, lazily throwing daggers at the wall, Lucius allowed himself a small smile. His planning had paid off. It had been a while since he had been able to use his carefully-honed skills to extract information from someone. After all, Lucius's skill with a wand was legendary. This could actually be quite enjoyable.

Time to see if he still had the touch.

In one move, he had disarmed the man. A second restrained him invisibly and hung him in mid-air. A third cleared the room of traps and harmful spells, sharp snapping sounds echoing as the more dangerous ones broke. Lucius performed each move so quickly that Rodolphus barely had time to blink his leaking, bloodshot eyes, grunting as his feet dangled above the ground.

_Ah yes_. Still had it.

"Greetings, old friend," Lucius said, pocketing the man's wand and strolling towards him with a cordial smile. "Sorry for the intrusion, but I just happened to be in the area." He eyed Rodolphus carefully for a reaction and tried not to show his revulsion. Rotten teeth, overgrown and matted hair, unwashed skin, and the eyes of a lunatic. His jaw was deformed and badly scarred in some sort of accident that clearly didn't heal properly. Combined with the smell and the clear sight of dried blood on the floors, walls and rusting steel chandelier made Lucius thankful he wasn't staying long. Rodolphus was disintegrating into his own filth.

Those bloodshot eyes, however, were shining with glee.

"Lucius!" shouted the man with a cackle. "You're still as quick as ever. Didn't even hear you arrive."

"It's good to keep up one's skills," said Lucius. "I trust you've been been well?"

"Oh yes," rasped the man. "I find ways to keep myself busy."

Lucius eyed the blood stains again and nodded. "So I see."

"How's that beautiful wife of yours?" he leered. "Heard about your son, too. Such a shame he's become such an embarrassment, wouldn't you say?"

Anger nibbled at the edge of Lucius's mind, but he refused to give in to the taunting. He had expected this. Rodolphus had always been extremely predictable, always hating Draco, always salivating after Narcissa.

"I'd love to chat old chap, really, but I'm in a bit of a rush," he said, cutting him short. "Just came for some information, I'm afraid."

"Ah, I have a feeling I know why you're here," chuckled the man, seeming unperturbed at the fact that he was hanging from the ceiling with no hope of getting down.

"Really?" said Lucius strolling a bit closer, examining the veritable carcass in front of him. "Enlighten me, please."

Rodolphus met his eyes and smiled widely with all his blackened teeth on display.

"You've finally caught on about the Weasley boy."

Lucius frowned. Perhaps this mission was more complicated than he thought.


	18. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Holy crap, I'm back! I got lost on the New York subway system about FIVE TIMES, at which point I handed my boyfriend the map and put him in charge of navigation. Given that I am a bit of a navigation control freak, please imagine me doing this with a hint of CRAZY EYE. I digress._

_Presenting: the chapter. Interesting to see what you were all guessing regarding the Weasley hint. All will be revealed! And yes, this was always part of the plan. I have a little extended Author's Note at the end of the chapter because I need your input on something, just a heads up. Vacation was sexy, but it's nice to be home! I have reliable internet here! xo_

* * *

"The Weasley boy," Lucius echoed, keeping his tone even, careful not to give away the fact that he had no idea what Rodolphus was referring to.

"Yes, that little prank I played. Not that I had a choice, mind you! The boy had me cornered. Had to tell him something!"

"Of course," Lucius said smoothly. "And what exactly did you tell him?"

"Told him you killed that filthy sister of his, of course!" Rodolphus cackled. "Oh, you should have seen the look on his face. Said he would hunt you down, he did. Said he would make you pay."

"I see," said Lucius, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And you left it at that? No follow-up? Doesn't quite seem your style, Rodolphus."

Rodolphus grinned. "Fine, you've got me. Might've arranged to have a little Malectio potion slipped into his pints at the pub. I knew you wouldn't mind, Lucius. Just wanted to have a little fun. Not like the boy could really do much damage."

"Malectio? To impair judgement?"

"Correct," nodded the man. "He wouldn't have done anything interesting otherwise. Sense of duty and honour and all that nonsense. The boy is a Gryffindor, after all. Oh, but he did make some bad choices. It was endlessly entertaining."

"How interesting," said Lucius. _How terribly unnecessary_, he thought.

Ron Weasley. Hermione's former fiancé, one of a million Weasley children, best friend to Harry Potter (or former best friend, if the reports were true), and the person responsible for sabotaging Draco's life since the War. Suddenly, it all made sense. If Lucius had to guess, he would say that Ron had likely targeted Draco to harm the entire Malfoy clan; everyone knew that Draco was the only source of support for his parents. Would he have done it without the influence of the Malectio potion? Tough to say, but it was unlikely. That insidious substance acted a bit like a devil on one's shoulder... Always pushing the host to act on bad impulses. A drop here or there, and a well-meaning person became their own worst enemy. Ron had been fed the stuff for years.

It could certainly explain all his philandering. It could also explain the passive way the boy got his revenge - stretched over many years, secretive, death by a thousand paper cuts. Reluctant and vengeful all at once. Teaming up with Stacey McLorrow was a no-brainer - she had a long history of detesting the Malfoy family, stemming from her father's old rivalry with Lucius. Stacey and Draco were still children when Lucius outright refused to consider a future arranged marriage between the two. Old Duff McLorrow took it a bit too personally, but then again, it _was_ personal. Lucius didn't want Duff's penchant for unpredictable rages and his baggage of bad debts poisoning the Malfoy line. Stacey had probably dealt with a lifetime of vitriol against the Malfoys ever since. Ron sold her information, at first, and then made her one of his many affairs as things progressed. Hurt Hermione, stupidly and carelessly, in the process.

If it weren't for Ron Weasley's interference over the years, the press wouldn't have gotten constant tips about Draco's activities. Draco's businesses might have survived. The public might have been a little more forgiving. He had been stoking the flames in a misguided attempt to hurt Lucius. He'd succeeded, and he'd nearly ruined the rest of the family in the process.

All because Rodolphus wanted to avoid being killed by someone who was grieving the loss of their sibling.

Lucius was not the sort of person who felt badly for people, but he did feel a twinge of pity for the Weasley boy. Revenge was a natural reaction to losing a loved one. Unfortunately, he was misinformed about who he should be targeting.

"Now that you mention it, Rodolphus, I'm not entirely sure I know how the Weasley girl died."

"I killed her, of course," he boasted. "She was trying to protect the Longbottom child. I wanted him dead too. Slit both their throats. These Gryffindors need to be controlled - can't let them keep running around free, Lucius. Blood traitors, the lot of them."

"Blood traitors," Lucius repeated, tapping his fingers against his lips. In the past, this sort of information wouldn't have phased him. He used to believe quite strongly in his superiority, his impeccable bloodline, the filthiness of Muggle-borns and their true place in society. But these last five years had done their work on him, and although he would probably always be proud of his family name, he had also been humbled by it.

In fact, it was clear that as long as people like Rodolphus existed, the newest member of his family would be in danger. Something growled in his chest at the thought. Nobody would touch a hair on her head, especially not this filth in front of him. Granted, she seemed more than capable of protecting herself, just like Narcissa, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Well, you've certainly been busy," Lucius said with a polite smile. "I have one last question, if you'll indulge me."

"And then you'll cut me down?" said Rodolphus, hopefully, swinging slightly by the invisible ropes. "I know you like to be cautious, but I can't be hanging around here all day, you understand. I have some business to attend to in the dungeons."

Lucius wondered vaguely what poor creature was down in those godforsaken cells. The whole place looked like Rodolphus used it as a spacious torture chamber. Bad form, really. Torture should be reserved for necessity, not for fun.

"Of course I will," Lucius lied. "Now about my question. I'm curious: what do you know about the disappearance of Hermione Granger's parents?"

Rodolphus's whole demeanor changed, his jovial expression turning into a twisted grimace, his entire face radiating with hatred. "Looking to punish that fucking whore for ensnaring your son? Can't say I blame you. Those Muggles need to be put to rest for raising such a worthless little know-it-all."

The look of serene calm on Lucius's face faltered, and he twitched and gritted his teeth before daring to speak. He would have to tread very carefully here lest he lose his cool and murder the cretin in front of him before he'd gotten the information he needed.

_Information first. Murder after_. A nice relaxing mantra to get through the rest of the encounter.

"Those are big words, Rodolphus. You seem quite angry about the Granger girl."

"She'll get what's coming to her," he snapped. "But it's her filthy parents I want hanged."

"They're just Muggles, Rodolphus," Lucius reasoned. "Why let them get under your skin? Aren't you... Above that?"

"Look what they did to me!" the man cried, jutting his mangled jaw out towards Lucius, saliva dripping out of his glistening mouth. "She'd hidden them, wiped their memories to keep them safe, but I found them. It could have been so easy. So easy." Rodolphus moaned, hanging his head, muttering under his breath.

"But something went wrong?" Lucius said, somewhat fascinated at the reaction two Muggles inspired in a man like Rodolphus.

"They were getting parts of their memories back by the time I found them. They knew the girl was in danger, that there was a War, that they were targets somehow. They were ready for me."

"Two Muggles. Two Muggles fought you off?"

"The girl had warded the place," he spat. "My magic didn't work there, but they had a weapon. A shotgun. Blew my jaw to pieces. Said if I ever came back, they'd do what was necessary."

Lucius's mouth dropped open. He'd always understood Hermione to have been somewhat of an anomaly in her quiet Muggle family, but it appears she came by her courage naturally. Weren't they tooth Healers? Sounded like a dangerous trade.

"I went back with support, but they were gone," he grumbled. "Checked all the neighbouring towns. I think I've narrowed down where they are. A place called Adelaide in Australia. Was going to go there next week and get my revenge." His face perked up then. "You should join me, Lucius! It will be like old times. Brothers in arms. We'll gut them like the animals they are." Another sick smile displaying a rotting mouth.

Lucius smiled with satisfaction. He had the name of a town. That was all he needed. Thank Merlin - he was quite tired of this damp hellhole. The stench really was abominable. Now what to do with this lump of flesh in front of him? A quick kill would be too good for him, which gave Lucius no shortage of ways to dispose of the body.

It was so nice to have options in one's line of work. Lucius made his choice, and then smiled contentedly.

"Alas, my dear Rodolphus, I have no desire to relive those old times," he said, taking out his wand and polishing it with the corner of his robe. "I'm somewhat reformed now, haven't you heard?"

"Rubbish rumour, I thought," said Rodolphus, eyeing Lucius's wand with suspicion.

"I'm afraid not," Lucius replied. "You know," he said, wistfully, "I can't complain. It's really been quite nice."

"_Nice_?" gaped Rodolphus. "You think it's _nice_ to be a fading power in the world that is becoming overrun with Muggle-borns? Who will lead our world into the future, Lucius? Haven't you thought of that?"

"Of course," Lucius said, cheerfully. "And to answer your question, I think it's quite likely that my future daughter-in-law will be leading our world in due time. She's really very bright. Stubborn as a mule, but delightful overall."

"Your future dauther-in-law? Surely you don't mean that filthy, loudmouthed - "

Rodolphus stopped speaking abruptly, and Lucius was pointing his wand right at the man's face.

"I'll thank you not to insult her," he said, calmly. "Your manners are slipping, Rodolphus. Now the question is, of course, what to do with you, old chap. Can't really have you running about, threatening my family." A dark smile took over Lucius's face. "Tell me... Have you ever wondered what it would be like to die slowly from hours, nay, days of Cruciatus? I ask because I've discovered a brilliant way to keep the spell running without me having to be here. Isn't that wonderful?"

Rodolphus gurgled in pain. The spell had begun.

"It's really been lovely catching up with you," Lucius said, walking away from the convulsing man. "I'll give 'Cissa your best wishes, since she won't be seeing you ever again. I'm sure you would have wanted to say goodbye under more pleasant circumstances."

As Lucius left the old castle, he looked back and sent a quick spell over his shoulder. Down in the depths of the dungeons, all the locks opened.

_Ugh_. This Gryffindor honour nonsense was rubbing off on him. He'd have to get that looked at.

Now how on earth was he going to get to Australia?

* * *

Two days passed, and Draco went from bad to worse, eventually locking himself in his office and only coming out to use the loo.

"Mate, you need to eat," Blaise said, knocking at the door for the third time that day. "I've got a sandwich here for you."

"I don't want your fucking sandwich," came the muffled reply.

Blaise sighed. "You haven't eaten in a day and a half."

"Not hungry."

"Hermione will be upset if you fall ill from malnourishment," Blaise said, feeling only mildly guilty for pulling out the Hermione card. Draco was going to collapse if he didn't start eating soon. It wasn't like he was fabricating her eventual reaction. She'd go ballistic if she saw the state Draco was in. Two days and he looked like a zombie. What was he going to look like in a week?

The door creaked open.

"You're an arsehole," said Draco, quietly taking the sandwich out of Blaise's hands.

"An arsehole who loves you," said Blaise with a smirk. "Now eat. She will come back eventually."

"Don't fool yourself, Blaise. I'll probably be dead by then." The door clicked shut.

Blaise frowned. That was the second time in as many days that Draco had hinted at death. Perhaps it was time to bring in reinforcements. He strolled over to his desk and scribbled a note on some parchment, rolling it up and fastening it to his fastest express owl. "I know this is probably redundant, but be speedy, yeah?" he whispered to the bird.

It blinked at him, unimpressed, before taking off.

Blaise watched it leave, hoping that Harry would understand the urgency behind his messy cursive.

_Potter. Time to leave the farm. Bit of a situation here. Make haste! BZ_

* * *

"Hold on... Malfoy and Hermione are soul mates?" coughed Harry as he choked on his Butterbeer. He had arrived in England only minutes earlier after getting a rather cryptic note from Blaise, and rushed to London in record time expecting the worst. Now they were at a local pub and Blaise was trying to explain what had happened since Harry left the previous week.

Quite a lot had happened, as it turned out. It wasn't exactly the worst, but it was completely fucking weird.

"Yeah, cosmically fated and everything," said Blaise, signalling to the bartender to bring more alcohol. "Apparently it progresses quite fast. Draco's totally lovestruck."

"Draco. Draco Malfoy. Lovestruck over _Hermione_."

"Having trouble believing it?" Blaise grinned.

"Fuck yes," Harry said, running his hand through his already-messy hair. "Are you sure? I mean, I'm doubtful Malfoy could be lovestruck over anyone, but Hermione? They used to hate each other!"

Blaise leaned in with a whisper. "He's been talking about writing poetry."

"Oh, Jesus."

"Exactly," Blaise nodded. "It's serious. And apparently Hermione was starting to show the same symptoms before she ran off."

"What, she was feeling poetic?"

"No, she nearly killed Stacey McLorrow because she threatened Draco, among other things."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose that is a bit extreme, especially for Hermione."

"But the problem is that Hermione is as stubborn - "

"As a mule. I see your concern. You're worried that even if she's falling for him, she won't allow herself to admit it, or act on it, at least."

"Which would be stupid, but not impossible. They would both suffer. Draco's already feeling physical pain from being separated."

"Physical pain? Merlin's beard! I wonder what Hermione's feeling then."

"Probably something similar. Sounds bloody intense, if you ask me. You know her hair is changing colour?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's going platinum, like Drake's."

"You're not serious."

"'Fraid so."

"Good Lord." Harry stared at his Butterbeer, turning all the information over in his mind. It sounded insane, completely ludicrous, but Blaise wouldn't have called him all the way here over nothing. Even more unbelievable was Blaise's assertion that the elder Malfoys were actually ready to accept Hermione into the family. After all, if Blaise was correct, they were extremely familiar with the effects of this trait, and they probably knew there was no fighting it.

Apparently Hermione hadn't been given the memo. She was going to fight this thing every step of the way.

Why was Harry not surprised?

"So Hermione is missing, we have no idea where she is, and we're just patiently waiting for her to come back so Malfoy doesn't die of heartbreak or something?" Harry asked.

"That's about right," said Blaise. "Draco hired a private Auror to try and find her, quietly, of course, given her request, but there's no trace of her."

"Of course there isn't," Harry scoffed. "If Hermione doesn't want to be found, she's not going to be found. Knows how to disappear better than most."

"I've got no doubt."

"And the Malfoys aren't going to intervene? If you're right about this, Hermione is their... Their... Future daughter-in-law. Wow, that sounds completely barmy."

"Doesn't it? But Lucius is off on some undisclosed mission, and Narcissa apparently feels so guilty for intervening the first time that she's insisting things resolve themselves naturally. She doesn't want to scare Hermione off again. I guess she didn't anticipate Hermione's reaction."

"Because who wouldn't want to be a Malfoy, right?" Harry said, dryly.

"They are pretty proud of the family name," Blaise shrugged.

"Hermione was tortured while they watched!"

"I'm not arguing, I'm just saying that they don't think of these things the same way as we do."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "But just waiting for Hermione to come back is a terrible idea. She'll hold out beyond the point of reason, and they are both suffering in the meantime. If what you tell me about Draco is true - "

"He's barely eating. Won't leave the office. I think he might actually hurt himself."

"Well, we obviously don't want Draco to reach that point. Besides, on a practical note, Hermione would murder us all if we let him come to any harm."

"Exactly," Blaise smiled. "I'm glad we're of the same mind." He cleared his throat in an official manner to signal that he was about to let Harry in on a devious plan. "Harry, I'd like to let you in on a devious plan."

Harry looked surprised, but then leaned in, curious. "I'm all ears," he said.

"The way I see it, if we leave Hermione to come back on her own, we could be waiting ages. They will both be in danger if we let that happen. I say we give it until the end of the week _maximum_ and then entice her back."

"Entice her how?"

Blaise whispered something in Harry's ear, and Harry's eyes lit up.

"What do you think?" asked Blaise. "Do you think it would work?"

"Blaise, it's dirty, conniving and completely sleazy."

"That's not what I asked," Blaise sniffed.

"Of course it will work."

"And you don't mind being party to something so... Underhanded?"

"Are you kidding?" Harry grinned. "I'm not sure how we haven't become friends sooner."

* * *

_AN: I've written this story to end in a few chapters, which means there are many things you have all expressed an interest in that won't get a lot of page time to be explained. With that in mind, I am considering adjusting the ending and writing you a sequel. That will let me flesh out some sub-plots that currently only exist in my brain, and will also allow me sufficient Smut Time (capitalized because it's important). Question is: does that appeal? Writing takes an assload of time, so I want to make sure I'm investing it where you've got a real interest. Otherwise I can wrap this puppy up and move onto something completely different. Talk to me. _


	19. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Whoah dudes! You have some serious ideas about whether or not to go the sequel route. Some of you are SEQUELGASM (mostly because of the smut possibilities, you dirty, dirty readers) and some would prefer that I just make this story longer. I've been stewing on it all day and I think I have a plan: I'm going to post a couple more chapters, pause in a comfy, happy place, and then take a bit of time to rework the ending so there is plenty of room for sex, uh, I mean PLOT DEVELOPMENT. Granted, I feel squeamish about taking a small break in the middle (well, near end) of a story, but you're right... Might as well do it up proper. I won't be gone too long. You know by now that I'm a little obsessive about completing stories on schedule. I get a bit twitchy otherwise._

_Now let's spend some time with our favourite BAMFY matriarch, shall we? And maybe her pet? Who wants to meet cuddly Queenie? Who wants to see Narcissa go calmly apeshit all over a bad guy? Who wants to analyze what calmly apeshit means? WHO WANTS ME TO STOP ASKING QUESTIONS? xo_

* * *

Narcissa hummed an eerie little tune as she piled the meat scraps in a bucket to take out to Queenie. Leftovers had been getting more plentiful lately, and her companion had been extremely appreciative. Seeing as how it was generally a good idea to keep Queenie happy and well-fed, Narcissa was pleased to be able to provide. It wasn't a fresh kill, but it would do.

Still, no amount of leftovers could take her mind off her worries, and Narcissa headed out into the moonlit field with a heavy heart. It was funny, wasn't it? She could calculate a duel down to the final move. She could out-play nearly anyone in Wizard's Chess. She could do all these things, but she had completely failed to guess Hermione's reaction to the news that she and Draco were fated for each other. Because the two women had so many similarities, Narcissa had imagined Hermione would be thrilled to learn she was one in a long line of powerful Malfoy matriarchs, the ranks of which held some of the more fascinating women in the history of magical England.

Instead, she was horrified. Perhaps rightly so, if one was being objective. Objectivity was not something Narcissa had ever really bothered with, but this time it cost her dearly.

In the end, the entire incident was a terrible miscalculation. She simply hadn't considered all the factors. There was Hermione's history with the family, of course, which had been anything but friendly. There was also the fact that she hadn't been granted enough time to fall for Draco the way he had fallen for her, and was still able to pry herself away from him long enough to run. Granted, the portrait's interference made her reaction much worse than need be, but the truth was still painfully clear.

Hermione didn't want to join the family. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.

It was the 'not ever' part that had Narcissa's stomach in knots. Was the girl stubborn enough to keep herself away from Draco indefinitely? Nobody affected with the Gregales had ever attempted it, so the results were a mystery, but Narcissa could guess the eventual outcome. Draco wasn't eating and was barely sleeping, mumbling about self-harm. He felt as though he was being rejected by his mate. A few weeks of that and his body would shut down. Perhaps Hermione's too, if she was going through the same thing as he was.

But Narcissa, blinded by her own excitement and the desire to get things moving a little faster, didn't see the risks. She gave her the potion knowing the trait would accelerate things, only to learn that Hermione wasn't ready to fall in love at a breakneck pace, especially coming off the end of an atrociously bad five years that were marred with the disaster of addiction.

She wanted something manageable.

Manageable didn't happen, and now she was gone.

Narcissa continued to hum the familiar tune as she walked, even though her voice faltered slightly. There was no point in getting emotional about this. Hermione would either come back, or she wouldn't. Nobody was going to grovel to bring her home.

_Home_. Narcissa groaned. Oh, who was she fooling? They would all grovel to bring her home. The girl belonged here now. Even Lucius, someone who was hard-wired to detest Hermione for all eternity, had fallen for her. Narcissa knew her husband better than anyone, and when Hermione pointed her wand at Stacey McLorrow's throat and threatened her with a combination of violence and legal ruin, Lucius was helpless to resist. He had always had a soft spot for women who knew how to handle their enemies. Hermione fit the bill charmingly well. So off he went to prove himself, or the family, in his own peculiar way.

It was anyone's guess where Lucius had gone, or what he was planning. He had often kept his missions a secret during the War – a way to keep Narcissa from worrying needlessly, perhaps. There was no way to fret over his fate if she didn't know what he was up to. Generally speaking, the arrangement suited her fine. This time around, she just happened to be a little more curious what he was up to. The stakes were high.

She looked up, happy to see the outline of Queenie's stable not far away. These little visits were always uplifting, and Narcissa knew she could certainly afford to unload some of the stress that was weighing her down. It was true what they said about animals making excellent companions; Queenie had been a consistent source of love and affection since Narcissa rescued and rehabilitated her after the Final Battle. Sometimes she could swear her friend understood her, and she was certainly receptive to Narcissa's moods, knowing when to be playful, stubborn, or simply comforting. Yes, a bit of dinner and a good grooming, and they would both feel as right as rain afterwards.

A sudden, uncomfortable shiver slowed Narcissa's pace, and she staggered before stopping completely, clutching her chest. _What on earth…?_

Someone had just passed through the wards. Someone angry. Someone moving very quickly over the property. Narcissa frowned. The last time she had felt this sort of negative energy was when Voldemort was living in the Manor and the place was crawling with Death Eaters. _Not good_. She knew what sort of monsters lurked inside the bodies of men. Living among them had taught her a thing or two about how to deal with the serially disturbed, and from what she could feel, this individual certainly fit the bill.

Another uncomfortable wave of energy caused Narcissa to gasp as her senses rang alarm bells.

Whomever was headed in her direction was projecting a severe amount of unstable anger. Narcissa gritted her teeth. She would have to cuddle Queenie later. There was a threat nearby, and as reigning Malfoy matriarch, it was her job to neutralize it.

She sucked in a deep, calming breath, and recalled that she had a particularly convenient advantage to make use of. The benefit of dealing with the insane, as opposed to more rational criminal sort, like her beloved husband, is that the insane had a much more difficult time hiding their thoughts.

Narcissa smiled to herself. There was also that _other_ convenient advantage she had. It was Queenie's dinner time, after all.

"Time to play, sweet girl," Narcissa whispered. She unlocked the stable door and made a kissing sound into the dark.

* * *

Rodolphus was mad, but anger was only part of the equation. The other part was of the unhinged variety: he had fully descended into lunacy, and he wanted to unleash his volatile fury where it would hurt Lucius the most. Besides, it was the only way to get the voices to stop.

Since he had fallen victim to Lucius's spell, it felt like there was a chorus of screaming children inside his head, egging him on. Their shrieks echoed around his skull. They were angry. They were restless. They wanted retribution.

So here he was, fulfilling their desires. The Manor. The dark jewel at the heart of the Malfoy family. The perfect spot for a massacre. Oh, Lucius would _hurt_ after he saw what Rodolphus was planning to do, and who he was planning on doing it to.

_Lucius_. He had never liked the bastard. A strutting pretty boy. A suave con artist. A pansy when it came down to the gritty stuff. Never liked to get his pale hands dirty, did he? What a sad excuse for a Dark wizard. Why Voldemort had been so smitten with him was beyond Rodolphus. And Narcissa? Nothing but a pretty face, as far as he was concerned. She never joined the other Death Eaters on missions, preferring to stay in the old house and examine herself in the mirror, no doubt. All beauty, but no brains. Draco? Was there even any point in mentioning him? The boy was barely even a wizard at this point. He was an absolute disgrace. He was nothing. Soft-hearted hero to Mudbloods. Such a shame to have wasted his potential so dramatically, but then again, Malfoys were unpredictable that way.

No matter. All the Malfoys were going to fade into obscurity - he would see to it. One by one.

The children in his head screamed more loudly, and he ignored them as best he could, twitching from effort. They would get what they wanted soon. _Calm down, children. We are nearly there_.

Clever trick though, that Cruciatus loop. He could admit that much. Lucius knew his way around a good Dark spell, and had never been shy about testing his little inventions every now and then. Well, Rodolphus could confirm that the spell worked. Six hours, six agonizing, blindingly painful hours caught in that trap until his household security reset all active spells within its walls. Ironically, that was a security feature Lucius himself had once suggested to Rodolphus. The bastard just never expected Rodolphus to be listening.

Thank Merlin he had. He survived it, although not by much, and he was going to exact some goddamn revenge. No dallying about with potions and grieving young men - Rodolphus was going for broke. The real deal. The full monty. The part that would hurt Lucius the most.

Narcissa.

She was here somewhere... He knew it. She never fucking left this place. The house wouldn't let him in, but nobody had answered the main door and all the windows were dark. During the War, she had spent a lot of time wandering the fields, keeping away from the main group whenever she could. Hopefully she was out here now, just enjoying the evening air.

The children in his head howled. "Shut up!" he barked, agitated, before his expression changed and he grinned maniacally.

Yes. The prize. Narcissa. Poor bitch didn't know what was going to hit her. He had wanted her for so many years, dreamed about her for so many years, and now he would have her. After he was done fucking her, he would tie up her perfect figure and remove her limbs one by one. He would _destroy_ her perfection. He would rape every inch of her beauty just to make a point. _Nobody_ pulled one over on a Lestrange. Even better, he knew a spell that would keep her alive until all the blood had left her body. He would leave the pool for Lucius whenever he returned from his Muggle-loving mission. The old man could take a fucking swim in it.

It was going to be a good night. _Right children?_

A stable came into view and Rodolphus chuckled to himself. Oh yes, Narcissa had a soft spot for animals. He had almost forgotten. What a silly bint. Maybe he could kill whatever she was keeping in there too.

Now where was she?

An eerie little melody reached his ears and he froze, a funny numbness tickling his limbs.

"I'm here, Rodolphus," came Narcissa's voice, her tone soft and pleasant.

"Where?" he growled, squinting in the darkness. "Show yourself!"

"My my, _someone's_ feeling demanding," said the voice, amused. "Such a surprise to see you. Might I ask why you've come for a visit?"

Rodolphus straightened his back and squared his shoulders confidently. Of course. He'd forgotten Narcissa didn't know why he was here. The children snickered. She didn't know what was coming.

"Lucius came to see me," he said, taking a step forward, hoping to catch sight of her. More tingling in his body. He ignored it. "Did you know he's going to Australia?"

"Australia? Goodness, I had no idea," said the voice, floating through his ears. "Did he say why?"

"He was looking for the Granger girl's parents," he replied, sweeping the field around him for a glimpse of her. Her voice sounded so strange for some reason, and he couldn't figure out which direction it was coming from. His feet were feeling quite numb now, and he struggled to keep his balance. "I told him what I knew. To be helpful, of course."

"How interesting," said the voice. "And why have you come to see me? You haven't exactly been social with the family since the War."

"That's nothing personal," he said, starting to get frustrated. _Where was she?_ An odd pain was starting to radiate behind his eyes. The children were screaming again. "Just had other things going on. The family had so much negative attention that I thought it best to keep my distance. You understand how it is."

"Of course," said Narcissa. "A wise choice."

The pain intensified and Rodolphus gasped, his already-shaky legs dropping his to his knees. The noise was so loud that he could barely separate his thoughts from the children. Someone was screaming bloody murder. _Who?_

"Where are you, witch?" he rasped, his facade slipping.

"At the moment, I'm in your head," said Narcissa, sweetly. "My dearest Rodolphus... You have some disturbing things going on in here."

Everything in his mind went quiet, and a bead of sweat dripped down his face.

"In... My head?"

"Yes darling," said the voice. "You've never been good at hiding your thoughts, but at the moment, you're an open book. You've been up to some very gruesome activities."

"Never been good...?" he whimpered, the pain traveling from his head down to his chest.

"Your rape fantasies have always been a little disturbing, Rodolphus, but I've never paid them much heed. Mostly I just found them pathetic. Could hear them halfway across the Manor." Her tone was shifting now, from sickly sweet to something harder. Something more dangerous. "But you've done more than fantasize lately. You've done quite a lot of damage. You've got carnage in your wake. I can see it all. Where did you find all these women, Rodolphus?"

"I... I don't know what you mean," he coughed, the pain making his vision blur. How was she doing this? His pastimes were none of her business. She was meddling in his affairs.

"Of course you do. And these children in your head... Are they yours too? Did you kill all these young ones, Rodolphus? Did Lucius's spell bring them back? Are they taunting you? They aren't happy with you, I can tell."

"Leave my head, hag!" he cried, writhing with pain on the ground. "I don't need to answer to you! I answer only to myself!"

"Of course, darling," she cooed. "And what's this nonsense about dismembering me and leaving my corpse for Lucius to find? Do you really think I would allow that to happen?"

"You won't have a choice," he gasped, mumbling against the grass-covered earth. "I will... Have... My revenge."

"No, you won't," said the voice, but now it was right in front of him. His dripping eyes focused in on a pair of black leather boots, the pointy toe sheathed in black metal and spiked to a painful tip. The tip was digging into his cheek. It had broken the skin. She pressed it in harder.

Rodolphus couldn't move.

"From what your memories tell me, it is I who deserves the revenge here," said Narcissa, leaning in to look Rodolphus in the eye. She had her wand against his temple and was extracting something into a glass vial.

"What are you doing?" he whispered as the chorus of screaming children amplified in his mind.

"Collecting the truth for Mister Weasley. You have cheated him out of his mourning, and since you will be dead shortly, I want him to have some sense of closure. He can peruse your thoughts at his leisure. His sister's death, your clever little potion... All will be revealed to him."

"Why would you help him? He is a blood traitor!" Rodolphus mumbled, feeling his life start to leak out of him. Or maybe that was all the blood. How was he bleeding this much? What had she done to him?

"So am I, I suppose," said Narcissa with a shrug. "Funny how things change. And I must say, after what I just witnessed in your memories, I'm quite looking forward to meeting Hermione's parents. I'll have to get myself one of those shotgun objects. They seem quite enjoyable, don't you think?"

She capped the vial and kit it in her robes with a smile.

"As for why I'm helping Mister Weasley... Well... It's the least I can do. He's going to be losing something very special to our family, if everything goes according to plan."

Rodolphus blinked. Everything she was saying was mixing together, the screams of the children overpowering each word, each synapse, each breath.

"I have an offer for you, Rodolphus. Since my husband's clever curse didn't kill you, I'll give you the following option: would you prefer to be eaten alive, or would you like me to kill you first?"

A rustling in the distance drew the man's gaze, and his eyes widened. The children shrieked.

"You have a manticore?" he whispered in horror.

"Queenie, meet your dinner," said Narcissa with a smile, petting the terrifying beast as it stretched its wings and pawed the ground with its lion's feet. Jagged teeth and dark eyes. A tail like a scorpion. A deep growl shook the ground.

Queenie salivated.

"Kill me," Rodolphus rasped. "Please kill me."

Narcissa met his gaze and batted her eyes innocently. "Sorry dear? I didn't catch that."

"Kill me!" he cried. "Goddamnit woman, finish me before the beast does!"

A dark smile broke out over Narcissa's face. "Come to think of it, I rescind my offer. I'll let Queenie look after ending your life. I'm sure you're aware of how manticores eat their prey? She'll start with your limbs, of course. Saves your heart for last."

Rodolphus whimpered as the beast stalked towards him, licking its jowls.

"Then, once she has shredded your heart, she will grind your bones down to nothing," she said, her voice soft and musical, as though she was reciting a nursery rhyme. "There won't be a trace of you left."

Queenie sniffed at Rodolphus's face, and he could smell the blood on her breath. The children in his head were hysterical.

"Oh, and Rodolphus?"

He pulled in one last, rattling gasp of air.

"Lucius was right. My future daughter-in-law will be leading us all into the future. Enjoy the afterlife of the damned, you sorry excuse for a man."

Rodolphus felt his leg get torn from his body, and then he felt no more.


	20. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Hi sugars. Hee hee, yeah, Narcissa is gruesomely awesome. Glad you liked her (those of you who aren't off vomiting somewhere... three cheers for dismemberment!). Our beloved Malfoys are darker than usual this time around, as you've probably noticed. I had always imagined Queenie as a manticore, but it makes sense that many of you were expecting a dragon. If I'm still surprising you at this point, I'm happy. _

_This chapter: we see what happens when Blaise and Harry conspire, and yes, we do get a glimpse of our heroine. I know you've been on tenterhooks wondering where she's at... Totally understandable! Sadly I don't actually tell you where she actually was this chapter, but it's coming. I've got a juicy instalment to post sometime in the next few days, and then I'll be taking that pause to rework the ending a bit. ANYWAYS. Enjoy! xo_

* * *

"Is it time yet?" Blaise asked, arms crossed, tapping his foot agitatedly against the floor.

He and Harry were staring at Draco's office door, hoping their friend was still conscious inside. One thing was for certain: he wouldn't last much longer without an intervention. Draco was spiraling out of control. They had to knock him out to get some nourishment into him last time, and he wasn't going to fall for the same trick again. He'd been positively caustic ever since.

"Shite mate, I don't know," Harry moaned, rubbing his forehead. "Are you still sure this is a good idea? I feel like it could backfire somewhat spectacularly."

"Of course it's a good idea!" Blaise replied, annoyed. "It's the best idea! You said so yourself."

"I agree that it is clever, but I just worry about luring Hermione out before she's ready. What if she's angry?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Angry we can manage. Would you rather she be dead?"

"Come on... Don't say that," Harry frowned.

"You know as well as I do that I might not be exaggerating," Blaise shrugged. "I think now is as good a time as any. She's been gone a week. Draco's mum is still sitting tight, hoping things will sort themselves, Lucius is off Merlin knows where, and we're at a fucking standstill. Draco's a total mess. If the hunger doesn't kill him, he might find a way to do it himself. Harry, it's time. We need to trick her out of wherever the fuck she's hiding, and we need to do it soon. They can sort out their business in person."

Harry sighed and adjusted his glasses. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's time. Go ahead and send that owl."

Blaise grinned. "Already did. Just wanted to make sure you were still cool with it. Should be getting a response any second now."

"What?" Harry huffed. "Bloody hell, Blaise! Why bother asking me at all?"

"Because I want to make sure we're in this together. Remember: I'm on Draco duty, and you greet the guest."

There was a loud knock on the main door downstairs from the Trebax main office. Blaise let out a low whistle.

"She's here," he said. "Quick reaction on her part. Must be keen. You get the door mate… I'll prep Draco. Stall her for a minute, yeah?"

"I'll try. And if this all goes to shite?"

"I haven't really planned that far ahead, honestly."

* * *

"Drake?"

Draco blinked, but otherwise gave no indication that he had heard his best friend's voice at the door. Given the nature of Blaise's interruptions over the past week, he was willing to bet that this was just another plea for him to eat a sandwich. There was no way he was getting up for that nonsense. Besides, he was finally comfortable. When he sat at his desk in exactly this position and pressed his forehead against the cool wood, he could almost imagine that he was somewhere else, somewhere far away from the searing ache in his chest, the empty longing he felt right down to the pit of his stomach.

She was still gone. Against all his wishes, she was still gone. It was as if there was a jagged wound inside of him, leaking toxic sludge into his veins, drop by drop. This feeling was _poison_, and it was sucking him dry.

He needed her, but she didn't need him.

That fact, that festering, rotting fact made him want to give up on everything. Hermione _made him love her_ and then ran away. And apparently she was fine with it, because otherwise she would have returned to him. She could handle being separated indefinitely. She was strong. He, on the other hand, was a bleeding disaster. Gods, he was so fucking pathetic. What sort of a Malfoy wanted to die because they were rejected by a girl? A fucking _failure_ of a Malfoy, that's who.

But it was still true. He was starting to wonder if death might be more pleasant than this hell he was living. So far, his inclination was a resounding affirmative.

"Drake!" The knocking was louder now, and Draco frowned, annoyed at the sound.

Silly Blaise. Even if he did want to get up, it was going to be hard on a purely mechanical basis. This hunger strike of his had made him extremely weak. Standing up had become difficult. Walking to the door might knock him out completely. His vision swam with the effort of turning his head.

No, he would stay here. It was better that way. Blaise was bound to give up soon.

Blaise's muffled swearing could be heard through the wood, and Draco detected a rustling of fabric as his friend rifled through his pockets. Was he grabbing the sandwich? Didn't he realize that his mission was pointless?

The door blew off its hinges. _Ah_. No, Blaise had not been grabbing a sandwich. He had been grabbing his wand. Seemed rather obvious now, in retrospect.

"You'd better fix that door," mumbled Draco, squinting as he watched his friend's silhouette march towards him. Everything was blurry. "What the fuck do you want, anyway? I told you I didn't want to be disturbed. I'm busy."

"Busy daydreaming about your own death? That doesn't count. That makes you decidedly _not_ busy. As for why I'm here, I want you to drink this potion," said Blaise, confidently.

"Piss off," Draco sneered. "So you can force me to eat again? Are you barking?"

"I'm not barking, and I've got no food to force down your throat. Believe me, it's important that you drink it."

"Oh?" Draco said, attempting to chuckle but only managing a limp whimper. "Why's that? Will it remove every memory I've got about Hermione? Will it make me forget that she doesn't want to be with me? Will it distract me from my complete failure of a life?"

"Uh, no," Blaise frowned. "But if you drink it, I will give you some news about her."

Draco sat up, his eyes widening. "Are you fucking with me? You'd better not be fucking with me, Blaise."

"No fucking going on here," Blaise said with his hands in the air, the small vial tucked in between his thumb and his palm, a wicked grin on his face. "Drink up." He tossed the bottle over.

With an almost panicked flail, Draco snatched the potion and gulped it down, knowing at once exactly what it was. He grimaced, wiping his mouth as energy filled up his body.

"Why are you giving me a restorative?" he snapped. "I don't want to be alert, in case you haven't noticed."

"I noticed, but you need to be alert," Blaise replied. "You've got a visitor."

Draco's eyebrows shot upwards, and his heart began to hammer in his chest, his breathing speeding up so much that he became dizzy. "You... You don't mean..."

"It's not Granger mate," Blaise said, apologetically. "But I still think you'll be happy about it."

"Not Granger?" Draco roared, standing up abruptly, fuelled by the potion. "Then I don't want to fucking see anyone! I want _her_. I only want _her_. I don't want to see anyone else, do you understand me?"

"I understand," said his friend, nodding calmly. "Now about that visitor - "

"Fuck the visitor. What news do you have for me? You said you had news about Hermione."

"Oh, right," Blaise said, awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder. "Uh, someone said they might've seen her in Brighton."

"Might've?" Draco said, suspiciously. "Who is this someone?"

"Third cousin of mine," Blaise said, quickly. "I'll look into it. Thought you might want to know."

"You made me drink a potion for _that_?" Draco seethed. "Any tosspot could have made that up!"

"It's a legitimate lead!" Blaise pouted.

"It's a waste of my time. Now piss off. I've got to figure out how to get this stupid potion out of my system. A nice sleep tonic should do the trick. Or maybe ten sleep tonics. Fucked if i care."

"I wouldn't do that, mate," Blaise said.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because I can't very well catch up with you when you're knocked out cold!" said a sing-song female voice, tapping heels echoing in the main office as the owner approached.

Draco looked up, confusion and dread churning his stomach. He knew that voice, and glanced at Blaise, clearly panicked. "You didn't," he whispered.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Blaise, innocently. "She came of her own accord. I had nothing to do with it."

They both looked back towards the door, still hanging off its hinges and smoking slightly. The sound of tapping heels stopped right outside. A woman stepped over the threshold.

"Hello darling," said Pansy Parkinson. "I've missed you."

* * *

Draco was attempting to bore holes into Blaise's skull with the sheer power of his will. It wasn't working.

"Stop staring at me like that mate," Blaise said, chuckling nervously. "It's a bit freaky."

_Freakier once this works and your brains ooze out your eye sockets_, thought Draco. Instead, he glared, trying to block out the insistent buzzing that was Pansy's voice. All four of them were sitting in the lounge area of the office, and Pansy had not shut up once since she arrived.

"So then I bought myself a mink coat, because they are seriously all the rage in Russia, only to find out that the one I chose was cursed and wouldn't come off once I put it on! Can you believe that? Bloody hot, I can tell you that much, and it cost me a damn fortune to have an old crone remove the spell. I smelled like a rodent for weeks!"

Pansy continued to babble nonsensically, moving on to topics like the benefits of platform shoes over simple pumps, glamour charms to make your makeup essentially permanent, and magical tattoo removal, citing some error with a "tramp stamp," whatever the hell that was.

Draco continued to fume, his eyes drifting over to Harry, who was dozing off beneath the cover of his shaggy bangs. _Potter_. Did he know Pansy was coming? Hard to say. He seemed too clueless to plan a fuck-up of this magnitude.

No, this stunt had Blaise written all over it.

The question was... What exactly was Blaise hoping to accomplish? Draco and Pansy had grown up together, shagged like animals in school, and abruptly called everything to a halt when the seriousness of the War became apparent. It's not that Draco disliked Pansy: she was pleasing to look at, she had been fun to snog, they came from similar backgrounds, but _Merlin_ did she ever turn him right off. Verbal diarrhea was spewing out of her in an incessant stream and he wanted nothing more than to slap a silencing spell on her before he was tempted to do something radical. Blaise would probably be his first casualty, but it was anyone's guess where Draco would go from there. It would be a massacre brought on by a goddamn mink coat. No survivors. The Prophet would eat it up.

"Pansy, why are you here?" Draco asked, cutting her off in the middle of one of her stories.

She glared at him. "Honestly Draco, have your manners completely fucked off since I left?"

"No, my ability to care about things like manners has completely fucked off," he snapped. "Listen, it's very nice to see you, but this isn't a great time for a visit, honestly, and I've got work to do, so if you don't mind - "

"I do mind!" she said, affronted, tears springing to her eyes. "I've come all the way from Russia to see you and you just blow me off?"

"Pans, I'm not blowing you off," he sighed, feeling slightly guilty. "I'm just wondering if you've got a specific reason for being here, is all."

"I don't see why I need a specific reason to visit one of my oldest friends," she sniffed, wiping her cheeks. "We've known each other since we were children!"

"Okay, I'm sorry for suggesting that - "

"But I suppose there is a reason, now that you mention it."

Draco's mouth snapped shut, and his eyes narrowed to mistrusting slits. _That_ sounded a little more like the Pansy he knew. "Oh?" he said.

Pansy shimmied closer to him, and he attempted to slide further away on the couch, but he was already against the armrest. Her hand slid over his thigh. He swallowed uncomfortably. _Shite_. Most definitely the Pansy he knew. Whatever she was up to, he needed to get out of it. Fast.

"I understand you're still unmarried," she said, her voice low and suggestive.

"Wha - "

"Since I am also unmarried, and since the Malfoy name doesn't hold the baggage it used to, I was thinking that we could start up our old fling again." She smiled, as if that explained everything.

"Excuse me?" he said, his eyes flitting over to Blaise and Harry, trying to determine if he'd imagined her inane statement. They both shrugged awkwardly and pretended they didn't notice Pansy begin to stroke Draco's leg.

Harry failed, and cringed.

Blaise failed, and snickered.

"Pans!" Draco said angrily, slapping her hand away. "Honestly, what the f - "

"Your parents would be thrilled, I'm sure," she said, ignoring his protests, her fingers reaching for him. "They always thought we'd be a good match. We have great chemistry. We're both Purebloods. We both come from money, although I understand you're running a little lower than usual. I can spot you in the meantime. Oh, Draco, wouldn't it be fun?"

"Fun?" he gaped, standing up and nearly falling over himself to get away from her grasping hands. "No Pans, that's not what I would call fun. We dated in school. It was fine at the time, but we're not going to date again, okay?"

Pansy stood up, her black mini dress riding high on her thighs, her lips pouting. "Why not, Draco? We had great times together, you'll recall."

"You mean before my life fell apart and Voldemort moved into my house?" he said. "Sure, great, but those days are over. Jesus, I can't believe you'd even suggest it!"

"Those days don't have to be over," she said with a sultry wink, bringing her voice down to a whisper. "Do I need to remind you about that thing I can do with my tongue?"

Draco groaned with embarrassment. Blaise perked up, listening with interest. "Bloody hell Pansy, nobody needs to hear about - "

"We could have everything we wanted," she continued, walking towards him. "A big house, influence, a family..."

"I don't want those things!" he said. _With you_, he thought, his eyes darting around the room. He needed to get out of here. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable, and he was starting to feel itchy at the mere thought of Pansy's hands on him. He only wanted one set of hands on him, and those hands had gone tragically missing.

"Of course you do," she shrugged. "Everybody wants those things. Look Draco, I always get what I want, and right now, I want you. Don't fuss. What will it take?"

"I'm not like a sodding mink coat, Pansy!" he growled. "I'm not something you can buy."

"Are you sure? Everyone has their price," she smirked.

"Just what are you suggesting?" he said, angrily, backing up again.

Harry and Blaise kept looking between Draco and Pansy as though they were watching a tennis match. One side, then the other. One side, then the other.

"I'm suggesting that you let me give you what you want."

"You don't know what I want, Pansy, and I'm telling you that I'm not interested," he said, firmly, eyeing the window and trying to decide if he could manage to leap out of it. He might break a bone.

It would be completely worth it.

"Of course you are!" she said, brightly, not listening to his refusal. "It's a brilliant offer. And besides, I used to know you better than anyone. How much could you have changed, really?"

"Everything has changed," he said, suddenly sombre. "I've changed. You have no idea how much."

"Oh please," she snorted, crossing her arms haughtily. "How exactly? Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy. You look the same, albeit a bit older. You're still a rude arsehole - sorry darling. You care dearly for your parents and you care very little for everyone else. What's different?"

"You really want to know?"

"Try me."

"I've fallen in love with Hermione Granger," he stated.

There was a long silence as she stared at him.

"I don't believe you," she said, but her voice was quieter this time.

"I don't care what you believe, but it's true," he said. "I'm in love with her, and if I can't be with her, then I'm not going to be with anyone. Sorry Pans, but it's not going to happen."

She frowned, trying to decide how serious he was about this. "But perhaps if - "

"No," he said, shaking his head. "For the last time, _I'm not interested_."

"But Draco, we could just - "

"He told you he's not interested," came a voice. Everyone whipped around.

Hermione was standing in the doorway, looking thin and tired, her clothing singed, but with a clear fire in her eyes. Her hair was hidden by a pale purple scarf. Her wand was raised.

Draco's mouth dropped open.

"And if you don't step away from him now, I will personally remove you from the premises," Hermione finished, pointing her wand directly at Pansy.

Pansy and Hermione glared at each other for several seconds, and then slowly, Pansy began to back away from Draco. She sashayed over to Blaise and picked up her purse.

"I can see where I'm not wanted," she said, curtly, pulling out a hand mirror and reapplying her lipstick. "Nice to see you, Draco. Blaise, Harry, would you mind walking me out?"

Both men scrambled to their feet, trying not to stare at Hermione as they shuffled towards the exit. Hermione didn't notice. She had locked eyes with Draco and had obviously forgotten anybody else was in the room, both of them immobile like deer in the headlights.

Pansy, Blaise and Harry crept out of the office, glancing back over their shoulders at the frozen pair.

"Well it's about damn time," whispered Pansy to the boys. "I could only keep up that act for so long. Thank goodness you were right, Blaise. Her weird instincts completely reacted to my advances."

"It was just a theory, but I'm bloody glad it worked," whispered Blaise with an approving smile. "You were brilliant, by the way. Honestly. I nearly believed that blather about the mink coat, you were so good."

"Yeah, really excellent," whispered Harry, looking pained as he counted out a handful of Galleons to hand to Blaise. "Remind me not to bet against you next time, Blaise. You've obviously got this devious thing down pat. I'm out of practice."

Blaise grinned. "Best plan, just like I said. But I really couldn't have done it without Pansy. Pans, I owe you one."

"Well, after I got your message, I couldn't very well refuse," she smirked. "I mean, Draco in love with Hermione Granger? It's too bizarre to ignore! And it's the real thing, too. Did you see how serious he was about it? I think he might have actually been repulsed by me." She frowned, thinking that over. "Tosser," she muttered under her breath.

"Speaking of those two," said Blaise. "I think we should hang out here in the hallway and make sure they're doing okay. Hermione's clothing looked like it had recently been... Well..."

"Aflame?" offered Pansy.

"Yes," said Blaise. "Which makes me wonder where she's been hiding and what she had to do to get out. We should stick around for a bit."

"So... You mean eavesdrop?" Harry asked.

"Of course I mean eavesdrop," Blaise said, as if that was the stupidest question in the world. "What did you think I meant... Guard the building for their safety?"

They all shared a look and then shrugged, hunkering down by the door.

"Hey, Pans?" Blaise whispered.

"Hm?" she said.

"Since we might be here a while... I'm curious. What's the thing you can do with your tongue?"


	21. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Oy, friends. So sorry for the wait… It wasn't intentional. My grandmother passed away suddenly and I've been spending some time on the road to go see family. These past couple of months have been pretty sucky in the family emergency department, hey? Horribly, horribly sucky. I know that's a perfectly valid excuse not to be posting, but I still feel like an asshole. I'm bad at this not-posting-every-day thing! I always feel like I'm forgetting to do something! Anyway, now I'm back and I will carve out some time to finish up the story. Promise it won't be too long. In the meantime, enjoy the reunion. Please review! xo_

* * *

"You came back," Draco said, feeling dizzy as he stared at her from across the room.

She was thinner, certainly, and the scarf was a new addition, but she was still _her. _In one piece. Not even seven feet away. Relief flooded his chest, and he felt his shoulders relax. One by one, his muscles started to ease up after having been scrunched into tight knots all week.

She was there. She was really there.

He almost didn't believe it.

Hermione nodded, still frozen to the spot, looking equally filled with relief and anxiety. Her wand was stowed away now, her fingers fidgeting at her sides.

"I thought you weren't going to return," he said, dazedly. "I thought you didn't want to see me again."

"Of course I did," she said, her voice shaky. "Of course I do. I just needed some time."

"Did you have enough?" he asked, warily. If she was about to leave him again, he didn't know what he would do. He couldn't handle it; he could see that now. He would crawl into a hole and never come out. It was ridiculous, but it was true. Even now, having her across the room felt wrong somehow. She was meant to be closer. Always.

"I... I think so," she said. "I did a lot of thinking."

His stomach flipped unpleasantly at her words. What did that mean? Was that good... Or bad? What sort of thinking? What had she decided? Panic began to mix with his feelings of elation, and his vision swam, her face becoming blurry before snapping back into focus. Gritting his teeth, Draco begged his brain to stay on track, but he knew his body couldn't take much more of this. Constant anxiety had frayed his nerves and buggered his mind, not to mention the damage it had done to his heart. This love business was absolute _shite_ for one's health.

"Did you reach any conclusions?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

"A few," she said. "I'm still working on them a bit, but yes… I did sort some things out."

"Oh. That's good."

"Um, yes."

They both resumed their frozen silence, staring at each other like frightened animals.

It occurred to Draco that this quickly becoming the most awkward conversation he had ever had, and he was no stranger to awkward conversations. So much was being unsaid that the air was practically buzzing with questions. Stupidly, they were both too scared to come right out and talk about it. Hermione was so tense that she looked like she might shatter if she moved an inch.

Still, they had to work this out. Their lives had gone completely pear in the past couple of weeks, and if they didn't figure out where they stood, things would only get worse.

He didn't want things to get worse.

He had to make her talk.

"I couldn't find you," he said, cautiously. "I know you said not to look but… I… I couldn't…"

"I know," she said. "It's okay."

"It's not okay. Hermione," he said, shaking his head. "I can't function without you."

"You seem to have made it through the week in one piece," she said, quietly.

"Barely," he snorted. "If Blaise wasn't force-feeding me, maybe not at all. Worst week of my life, easily, and that's saying something, considering I used to live with Voldemort."

Surprise registered on Hermione's face, and then resignation. "I had a bad week too," she admitted. "Really bad, actually. I think I'd choose Bellatrix before doing that again."

Draco felt a flicker of hope in his chest, but he bit his tongue to let her continue.

"I feel like I'm broken," she said, her eyes becoming unfocused. "I can't get out of this pattern of dependency, of inevitability. After the War it was pills, and now it's you. I don't even know what to do about it anymore. I mean... When did I become such a mess? It's like the person I was before the War just vanished. I used to act strong because I felt strong. Now I just act to cover up my weakness."

"Weakness? Are you mental?" Draco said, frowning. "Hermione, the War fucked everyone up. Look at me if you want to see a mess. Look at Harry, or the Weasel, even. Everyone changed, sometimes for the worse, and we're all still trying to figure out how to cope. You're not weak… You're doing the best you can with what you've been given."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off impatiently.

"Listen: I don't care about the drugs, and I don't give a rat's arse about the trait. Those things don't define you, just as my past doesn't define me. Nothing is broken here. In fact, maybe this was all meant to happen. My father was right… He said the trait unites people who have the capacity to love each other regardless. I can see that now. Whether or not we're destined for each other is beside the point. What matters is that it's made me realize how much you mean to me. You are the strongest person I've ever met. This is not weakness. _Love is not weak_."

He finished, realizing with mild horror that he had done the opposite of playing it cool. He had just emotionally vomited all over her. And he'd admitted to being in love with her, which they hadn't actually discussed before.

She blinked several times, stunned.

"Christ, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go off like that," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not very good at this."

A shy smile crept across her face. "It's okay. I don't mind. Maybe I need to hear stuff like that every now and then. I guess I tend to overanalyze things."

"That you do," he said, looking at her cautiously. She seemed to have taken his slip of the tongue remarkably well. She was still smiling, at least.

They fell back into silence again, but the space between them was much less tense.

"You don't have to stay so far away, you know," he said, deciding to chance it. "I don't bite." It wasn't eloquent, it certainly wasn't smooth, but it was honest. If he could accidentally tell her he was in love with her, he could hint that seven feet of space between them was a little excessive.

Hermione hesitated, like she was cycling through a million possible reactions in her mind, looking extremely conflicted. Draco's heart sank. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say after all. It was official: he was fucking hopeless. The person who meant the world to him was almost within reach, and he was somehow managing to push her away.

Suddenly, to his great surprise, she ran towards him and threw her arms around his neck with such force that she nearly knocked the air out of his lungs.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered as he gasped in shock. "I got scared. I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore, but I know I don't want to be away from you. That's a start, right?"

Then, before he could respond, she caught his mouth in a frantic kiss, the slightest of sighs escaping her throat as their lips met.

Draco felt as though his body was suddenly filled with light, everything else falling away like ash.

The shock passed, and he returned the kiss vigorously, wrapping his arms around her waist with crushing enthusiasm, relishing the brush of his fingers against her skin. And her mouth… Merlin help him. She tasted like tears and spearmint.

He never wanted to taste anything else again.

This was everything he wanted.

This replaced the darkness from the War, the craters in his heart from what he had done and what he had suffered.

This negated his struggles in the aftermath, the poverty, the panic, the helplessness.

This took the shell of who he had become and filled it up with something worthwhile.

This was it. If he never had anything else, it was enough. Nothing mattered but her.

"Oh my God," he murmured, in between kisses. It was the only thing he could think of to say. Everything in his brain had turned to mush. His mind had checked out and now his body was operating on automatic. It was a coup; an emotional takeover that he was happy to lose. If being ruled by a tyrannical trait felt like this, he would be a willing subject. Benevolence was lovely in theory, but by Gods, he could be a slave to this feeling. He deepened the embrace with a groan.

Hermione hummed her approval without breaking the kiss, her hands sliding out from behind his back and travelling up his torso, grasping everything in their path. Fingers everywhere all at once, running along his jaw, digging into his shoulder blades, grazing the curve of his arse. She nipped his lower lip and he groaned again, trying to will his cock to behave. It didn't listen, and quickly stiffened in his trousers.

Before she noticed, he pulled his mouth away from hers and leaned their foreheads together, breathing heavily. She smiled, tracing her fingers over his lips.

"Hermione," Draco whispered carefully. "I know you're probably aware of this, and I don't want to freak you out, but I am absolutely crazy about you."

"Feeling's mutual," she said, leaning forward and catching him in another kiss.

_The feeling was mutual_. He had never heard a more brilliant sentence.

"But… How? You were able to stay away." _Kiss_. "I went completely mental." _Kiss_. "You were fine."

"Fine? I wasn't fine," she said, coming up for air, looking embarrassed. "I just didn't give myself a choice."

"Come again?" he said, touching her cheeks gently, planting small kisses along her jawline. It seemed impossible to get too close to her, to touch her too much. Now that he was able to, he never wanted to stop. His hands slid down over the curve of her thighs, slowly, caressing every inch, the front, the back, gently grazing over the heated centre where they met. His hands stayed there, tracing circles, skipping teasingly over her fly. Another kiss on her jaw. Another lick on her collarbone.

She made a distracted sound, leaning into his touch as her fingers threaded their way through his hair.

"I sort of… Uh... What... Where was I?" she mumbled.

"Exactly," he said, nibbling her ear, smirking when he heard her gasp.

"You know, it's quite hard to be articulate when you're doing those... Those _things_," she panted, grabbing his belt loops for support.

"Do you want me to stop?" he said, applying a little more pressure, enjoying the feeling of her hands brushing his stomach as she fumbled with her grip.

"Of course not," she groaned.

"I'm glad. Now what did you mean when you said you didn't have a choice but to stay?" His fingers touched her more urgently. Caressing her jeans was well and good, but he was suddenly burning to divest her of the pesky fabric. Imagine the things he could do if there was nothing separating them. Imagine what lay underneath.

"Oh," she said, fighting to focus. "Uh, well, I charmed myself inside of a building and made sure I wouldn't be able to break out unless I blew the place up."

Draco paused, suddenly noticing the smell of burning and the char marks on her clothes. He blinked. He pulled back to look her in the eye.

"You're not serious."

"Of course I'm serious," she said, frowning. "I think you'll find I'm usually serious. Do you really think I would have been able to stay away if I wasn't magically confined? This wasn't a walk in the park for me, Draco. I had to make sure I gave myself enough time to think without making it easy for me to come back."

His curiosity was peaked, and he looked at her with fascination. "Which building?" he asked.

Her cheeks flushed red and she looked deeply embarrassed. "Harry's guest house."

There was a loud bang and a string of muffled profanity outside the main door. Hermione glared in the direction of the noise and shot a quick spell in the vicinity of the eavesdroppers. It was followed by a muted but unmistakable cry of pain from three separate voices. "Rude," she chastised. "That'll teach them to listen in."

Draco's expression had darkened, the smile dropping off his face dramatically. "Harry's guest house?"

She nodded.

"Did Harry know you were there?" he said, trying to keep his breathing calm. All this time? All this time she was somewhere he could have reached her? Magic crackled around him, and the lights flickered. Hermione looked around with alarm.

"Draco, that's enough," she said, sharply. "Harry had no idea. Seems like he almost never uses the place, which is why I chose it. He's on about a hundred acres – it was easy to cover up my presence with a few spells. The main house is tied up tight with security, but this spot is fairly easy for me to access." She frowned. "Well, it _was_ easy to access... I suppose it doesn't really exist anymore. Regardless, I had planned to stay there for two weeks to give myself time to think things over, but after five minutes I started to regret the spell. All I could think about was getting back to you, but I felt so guilty over the fact that I would have to destroy Harry's property that I forced myself to stay put."

"But you ended up doing it anyway."

"Don't remind me," she moaned. "It's just rubble now. Amazing I was able to get out with only a few burns. My shield charm was sloppy. I haven't really had an appetite all week, so my brain is a little slow to react."

A lazy smirk spread across Draco's face.

"I can't believe you blew up a building to come here," Draco said as he leaned in to resume kissing her jaw. "That is so hot."

"What other option did I have?" she huffed. "I could sense that you were uncomfortable... That someone was trying to seduce you. I couldn't just let that happen!"

"But I never would have gone along with it," he said, flattered and amused. "The thought of being with anyone but you makes me ill. Besides, I'm starting to realize that it was probably a setup. Blaise was trying hard to look innocent today, which is never a good sign."

"Well, it's the principle of the thing," she grumbled before breaking out into a shy smile. "Do you mean that? About not wanting to be with anyone else?"

"Of course I mean that," he said, nibbling her ear. "It's all or nothing for me. You're it, Hermione."

She smiled widely, her entire face lighting up, before her expression became more troubled.

Draco's stomach dropped. "What is it?" he asked, concerned. "You're not leaving me again, are you?"

"No no," she said, shaking her head. "It's just that… Well... I'm not like your mother."

"Thank Merlin," he grimaced, cocking his head sideways. "Rather odd thing to say, frankly."

She rolled her eyes. "What I mean is... I still want us to have time to get to know each other. Magical trait or not, fated or not, we need to pace this. The past couple of weeks have been completely barmy, and I want the insanity to slow down. No shotgun wedding. No talk about joining the family yet. Just a nice, normal courtship, if we could. As normal as can be, anyway, considering it's us we're talking about."

"Of course, of course, that's fine," he said. "Whatever you need. Just tell me."

"Well, if the offer still stands… Could I take you up on that date?"

Draco grinned widely. "Absolutely."

She smiled with relief, and leaned in for another kiss. He tutted her away and resumed kissing her neck.

"Not so fast, Granger. I have a question for you too."

"Which is?" she said, sounding flustered.

"What's under the scarf?"

"Oh," she said, blushing, touching the lavender piece of fabric that was hiding her hair. "I actually don't understand what's going on with it, and I look ridiculous, so I'm covering up until I figure it out."

"Figure what out?" he frowned.

She thought about it a moment, and then reached up to pull the scarf off her head. Draco's eyes widened. The brown curls were still there, but there was a strip of white down the centre of her head, and two thick stripes stretching back from her temples.

"I look – "

"Beautiful," he finished.

"Like a skunk," she finished, dryly. "Or a candy cane, if I'm being generous."

"I like it," he said, grinning. "Seriously."

"Really?" she said, wrinkling her nose. "But it's so bizarre."

"Yes, because you and I are the epitome of normalcy."

She smiled at him. "I suppose you're right. But honestly, I'm flummoxed. I kept waiting for my whole head to change, but it just stayed like this," she said, tugging at one of the white chunks. "What do you suppose is going on?"

Draco ran his fingers along one of the lighter strands, admiring the contrast in the colour. "My mother might have an explanation, although she was fairly convinced you'd go full platinum."

"I suppose we can ask her," Hermione said, shrugging. "But not right now. In fact, I was sort of hoping we could go on that date."

"You're speedy," he grinned. "And what would you like to do?"

A mischievous smirk took over her face. "How about a trip to a Muggle movie theatre?"

"But I don't know anything about Muggle movies!" he whined.

"Oh really?" she said, innocently. "Did you know that it's in a dark theatre with comfortable seats and a back row?"

Draco stared. "How soon can we get there?"


	22. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_OOOOOOMFG. I didn't expect that to take so damn long. Apologies, but the good news is... It's finished! Again! But longer! I'll be posting until it's done. If you want to know what the holdup was, here's the short version: first I tried to extend two chapters into five, and hated the writing. So I deleted it. Then I rewrote the entire ending, and hated it, so I deleted it. Then I did that another two times, nearly set a chapter on fire, had a temper tantrum in my living room, had a heart-to-heart with my dog, rewrote it a final time, and now I like it again. Being self-critical has its drawbacks, but at least you're getting something I'm proud of. My dog approves, too. I hope you enjoy it._

_Somewhat unrelated: I've started a blog! The link is on my profile. I'm new to Tumblr, so please come say hi. So far it looks like the inside of my brain, and by that I don't mean mushy and full of bodily fluid. I mean I spend most of my time thinking about tattoos, sex, books, music, and fan fiction. The blog mirrors that. I'll start writing there a bit too... About life, sex, books... Okay, you get the picture. I'm also happy to answer questions to just about anything, advice included. Oh, except math. If you ask me about math, I will write you a post about cunnilingus. I'm waaay more into that. Capiche? MISSED YOU GUYS._

_If I named chapters, I would name this: Someone forgot to tell the Malfoys._

* * *

Narcissa glared at the vial sitting in front of her.

Rodolphus's memories were sealed up and ready to go, complete with an explanatory note to Ron Weasley. Telling him the truth of his sister, telling him that the proof was in the vial, if he decided to open it. Telling him why she was doing this in the first place: that one, he deserved to know what really happened, and two, it was only fair for him to get some respite since he had lost so much recently, Hermione's heart included.

Providing the girl came back, anyway.

Everything was in place, written and prepared meticulously, and still Narcissa hesitated. There was no doubt that it was the right thing to do, but it opened the door for things to go badly wrong.

The fact that Ron had been acting under the influence of a powerful potion complicated things. It was possible, even likely, that he would not have behaved in the same way without it. Would he and Hermione still be together if it weren't for the potion? Perhaps. Even though Hermione was destined for Draco, she might not have found him until years later. She might have stayed with Ron longer, married him even, before the trait pulled her away.

That wasn't even the most confusing part. In her own case, Narcissa knew that once the trait kicked in, she had tunnel vision. Nobody else could compare with Lucius, and she wouldn't even entertain the suggestion. However, as she was learning, she and Hermione had some marked differences. The girl had already demonstrated an unheard of amount of strength and stubbornness in fighting the trait. The fact that she had managed to stay away from Draco as long as she had was proof of that. The question was, given this information, given all of these details, would she be tempted to give Ron a second chance?

"I bloody well hope not," Narcissa muttered under her breath. Trouble was, she couldn't really be sure. Hermione was bonded to Draco, but she had somehow retained enough free will to make Narcissa worry. Fate meant something else entirely when dealing with this ferocious brand of Gryffindor. It wasn't a certainty as much as it was an explosion. She might try things with Ron just to test the waters. Now _that _was worrisome.

Narcissa sighed and fidgeted with the vial. Other than the satisfaction of watching Rodolphus get ripped limb from limb, it had been a bit of a stressful week. There was this whole situation with the Weasley boy, of course, and Hermione's disappearance… But she was also starting to wonder what was taking her husband so damn long to reach the girl's parents. His gesture of extreme goodwill might tip the scales in their favour if Hermione was still uncertain about the family. Really, they needed every advantage they could get.

She knew that he had found a way to get to Australia simply because she had read the report in The Prophet. It was a small article, hidden under more inflammatory gossip, but the details had caught her eye. The Ministry office that regulates and grants international portkeys had been raided not even a week prior. Nobody could recall a scrap of useful information, of course, which made Narcissa positive that Lucius was behind it. He was exceptionally skilled at memory alteration, and besides, the stunt had his name written all over it.

But that meant he had been gone a while now, and she was admittedly a bit concerned. Lucius should be able to locate two Muggles and bring them back safely with his eyes closed. However, the fact that the Muggles in question were armed, missing pieces of their memories and were blood related to Hermione Granger made her wonder if there was perhaps a fairly large margin of error that they hadn't really assessed in advance.

Hopefully everything was fine. Hopefully his jaw was still intact whenever he chose to return. She was quite fond of his face in general. She wanted it just as it always was: handsome, scheming, and in one piece.

In the meantime, she continued to glare at the vial of memories, not liking her choices either way. Could she just _not _send them? Let the boy continue to think Lucius was behind his sister's death, and deal with his aggression as the years went on? Let Hermione completely fall for Draco before rocking the boat? It wasn't the right thing to do, but it was tempting. Giving Hermione the chance to sit down with a new and improved Ron seemed like an invitation for disaster, not to mention Draco's reaction.

Just when she was debating whether or not to send the stupid vial, damn the consequences, or put it off a little longer and make a nice pot of tea, Narcissa's senses tingled.

Lucius. He was home.

Vial in hand, she stood up abruptly and rushed out of the room to meet him. She was only halfway down the long staircase before she saw the huge front doors start to open. Lucius walked through, beaming tiredly as he saw her coming to greet him.

With relief, she saw that his face was exactly the same as when he left.

"Hello darling," he said before giving her an affectionate kiss. "I apologize for the delay."

"Apology accepted," she said, smiling happily. "I must admit, I was actually starting to worry. How did everything go?"

"Just fine," he said. "It took me a little longer to find them than I anticipated, as you are probably aware. Hermione had cast a rather strong Discombobulous charm on them that stuck quite well over the years. Once I clued in, it was much easier to locate them without becoming instantly confused."

"Clever girl," Narcissa nodded.

"Yes, clever girl, and clever parents, I must admit. Suspicious of everyone, understandably, but once I explained myself, they stopped waving the rifle around."

"You didn't disarm them?" she said, amused.

"I needed them to trust me," he shrugged. "It was worth the risk, and it paid off. They let me reverse the remains of the memory charm over a nice cup of tea. Told them about Draco. Discussed Muggle weapons for a while. A pleasant conversation."

"How lovely," said Narcissa. "But Lucius, did they not come back with you? I had expected to see them here."

"They are closing up the business and taking some sort of Muggle transit home. Something with wings."

"You mean... A dragon?" Narcissa asked, confused.

"Perhaps," said Lucius, thoughtfully. "But I think it was metal."

"A metal dragon?" Narcissa said, scrunching up her nose. "Muggles are so odd."

"Quite. At any rate, they will be back in a few days, and are greatly looking forward to seeing their daughter again, as you can imagine."

"If she ever comes back," said Narcissa, grimly.

"She still hasn't returned?" he said, looking startled. "I would have expected her by now."

Narcissa shook her head. "I haven't heard a peep from Draco. He refuses to speak to anyone but Blaise, so I've been checking in with him here and there. No news as of this morning. I'll try again tomorrow."

"But both Hermione and Draco must be absolute wrecks from being separated. She's continuing this willingly?"

"I'm afraid she's exceptionally strong willed," Narcissa said. "It's a bit worrisome."

"That is a problem," Lucius said, rubbing his chin. His eyes rested on her hand, which held the vial, and his brow furrowed. "What's this?" he asked, lifting her hand and peering at the glass.

"Rodolphus's memories," she said, calmly.

Just as she expected, his expression darkened dramatically.

"He escaped?"

She nodded.

"Are you hurt?"

She snorted. "Please. I can hear that man coming a mile away. He's louder than the Hogwarts Express."

"Imbecile," Lucius sneered. "I'm amazed he managed to get out of that. I was so sure it would ruin him. I'll have to be more careful in the future."

"You destroyed his mind, if it's any consolation," she said. "It was a right mess in there, although I managed to find out about the Weasley boy when I was poking around. Figures that Rodolphus would be behind something so cowardly."

"He was a poor excuse for a man. And where is his body?" He clearly didn't doubt for a second that Narcissa had taken care of the intruder with the skill of any Malfoy matriarch.

"Inside Queenie," she smiled.

"Excellent," he smiled back.

"While we're on the topic of Rodolphus and his memories, I need your opinion on a small complication I'm wrestling with."

"What sort of a complication?"

"It involves Hermione, of course," she said, linking arms with him as they walked back up to the study. "You see, I had planned on sending the vial to the Weasley boy to set things straight."

"Smart. Let him grieve properly, and take the attention off us. Be honourable and all that. And I suppose it's a small consolation prize considering that he'll be losing the girl."

"Exactly. Except that I'm worried about the chain of events following his discovery of the truth. He will no doubt want to speak to Hermione whenever she gets back to explain himself."

Lucius grimaced, understanding her concerns. "And you feel that because he may not have been responsible for his actions, she'll be open to meeting with him."

"Yes," nodded Narcissa. "Perhaps under more predictable circumstances, I wouldn't fret. After I bonded with you, I had no interest in any other man. But while I'm certain she is affected by the trait, she's obviously still very…"

"Independent?" Lucius said.

"Precisely," Narcissa said. "Lucius... You don't suppose she'd consider giving him another chance, do you?"

Lucius stopped in his tracks, and sighed. "Giving her unusual stubbornness, I guess I can't say for sure. But even if it was temporary, it would destroy Draco."

Narcissa nodded, the strain of the past week showing on her face as she lowered her eyes. "Honestly, I'm worried. My intuition just doesn't work around her. She's just so _different_. So far I've managed to misjudge everything. I thought this was going to be so straightforward, and it's been a complete disaster. Who's to say what will happen?"

"It's true that she is unlike any Malfoy I've ever heard of, although given the nature of the trait, perhaps that's the point."

It was a simple statement, but it made something click in Narcissa's mind.

"Lucius... I just had a strange thought," said Narcissa, frowning. "The trait is supposed to come out when the family needs something. Given how different Hermione is from us, and from just about everyone else the trait had affected... Do you suppose she's meant to make us... Better?"

Lucius considered her statement. "I don't understand. How could we possibly be better than we already are?"

"Maybe better is the wrong word. What I mean to say is... More... Empathetic. Think about it. She's changing, as expected, but so are we. Before she came into our lives, I'm not sure I would have taken those memories from Rodolphus without hesitation the way I did."

"And I probably would never have considered traveling halfway around the world to find two missing Muggles," Lucius admitted.

"Even Draco has become a better man in the short time they've been acquainted."

They both looked at the vial in Narcissa's hand.

"I was considering perhaps not sending it to the Weasley boy," Narcissa said, quietly. "Maybe a few years ago I could have done just that, but now I don't think I could go through with it. He deserves to know. He lost his sister."

"And Hermione would never forgive us if she found out we held back the information," Lucius agreed. "It would cement all her fears about us."

"That settles it then. I'll deliver the vial tonight, and I'll send a note to Draco warning him to be ready for the Weasley boy to start coming around. You can add to it if you want. Hopefully he actually reads it. She can sort things out when she returns, but Draco will definitely need a heads up so he doesn't murder Ron without all the information."

"And if he murders Ron even after getting all the information?"

She blinked. "I guess that would be... Bad? And we should try and avoid such a thing from happening?"

Lucius nodded, proudly. "We _are_ becoming more empathetic!"

Narcissa opened up the note and pulled out a quill. "I'll just make some additions to the note, and we will send it off to Trebax. He should get it quickly - Blaise said he hasn't left the office all week."

* * *

Draco practically kicked down Hermione's door before he remembered that he only needed to turn the handle. It swung open, and they both stumbled in, dishevelled and red-faced, their clothing askew.

They had lasted for exactly twenty-four minutes inside that Muggle movie theatre before Hermione grabbed him by the collar and demanded to be taken somewhere with a bed. Draco was not about to argue. Her place was slightly more furnished than his, so here they were, already tripping over their own feet to get to the bedroom.

Clearly, having a quiet first date was not in the cards.

Keeping their hands off one another on the way to the theatre was colossally difficult, but _Christ_ Draco tried. He knew he couldn't afford to fuck anything up and briefly considered casting some sort of charm to keep his fingers away from her skin. The trouble was that she was just so damn _responsive_ - every kiss was met with a deeper kiss. Every caress met with a groan or a sigh. When he didn't touch her for a moment, she grabbed his hands and placed them on her hips, or her waist, or her face. She needed him as much as he needed her, and the knowledge set him on fire. He was so turned on my the time they lined up for tickets that he hadn't the faintest idea what film they had paid to see.

It only got worse once they were inside. Hermione pointed him towards the back row, which was empty, along with most of the theatre.

"Must be a shite picture," he said, trying to joke as he followed her closely, noting the sway of her hips and the bounce of her newly-streaked hair. Bollocks, but she was gorgeous. "Nobody's here."

"I don't care about the picture," she whispered before pulling him down into the seats and proceeded to snog him so hard he was briefly worried his cock might strain right through his slacks. "It's a sequel to something that wasn't entertaining the first time around. Why do you think I chose it?"

His response was muffled against her throat.

Their movements quickly became more frantic, and as the adverts began and the lights dimmed, he began rubbing the heated spot in between her legs, wishing her jeans would vanish so he could slide his fingers inside. She writhed under his touch, responding by gripping the length of his cock as it pressed against the fabric of his pants. The curve of her breasts brushing his arms and chest made him long to tear her shirt right off, fuck anyone who noticed. He needed those tits in his mouth, and soon.

"I feel like I should ask you if you want me to slow down," he gasped as she flicked her thumb over the head of his dick, the cotton barrier not seeming to affect his sensitivity in the least.

"No," she said, sliding her tongue into his mouth to shut him up.

He let her continue for a while, and then pulled away, panting. "Hermione, I'm not sure I can make do with this... Touching... For however long this Muggle picture thing is going to last. These things are what... _Two hours_?"

"Well then get me to a bed," she said. "Now."

"Yes ma'am," he said, hoarsely.

He had never apparated with such urgency before. The trip up the lift was a blur, but now that he was in her flat, everything was beautifully clear. This was really going to happen, and it was going to happen with the speed of a train about to go off the rails. They were too wound up for something sweet and slow, and for some reason, that seemed just right.

He threw her down on the bed, quickly dropping his pants as she struggled to pull her jeans off. Her shirt had disappeared somewhere along the way, and her breasts were tucked into a pretty white lace bra.

He planned to remove that bra with his teeth.

She tugged at his shirt until he pulled it over his head, leaving them both panting and throbbing with need, he clad only in his boxers, her in her knickers and her bra.

Oh God, he couldn't even believe this was real. All week, he had been living a nightmare... And now? He was ready to slide off her knickers and lick every drop of arousal off her perfect pussy.

_Yes._

Hermione began to pull at his waistband when Draco had a sudden, desperate thought.

"Wait!"

She pulled back, surprised. "What?"

"You said you wanted to pace this," he said, straining to keep himself in check. "I said I would respect that."

"I meant emotionally! I meant that we needed time to ease into being together!"

"How does that not apply here?" he said, sorely pissed off that he had enough of a conscience to be saying this at all. "Hermione, I wasn't kidding. You are everything to me. I don't want to fuck this up, or scare you away, or move too fast. I mean, I do, of course, but I don't. Am I... Am I even making sense? There's not a lot of blood left in my head."

"You are making sense," she said. "And I appreciate the thought. But Draco... I want this. So long as I'm not going to be locked inside Malfoy Manor tomorrow and forcibly married before I'm ready, this isn't going to frighten me away. I'm a big girl. Everything else can go slow. This doesn't have to."

His breaths were ragged and quick, echoing off the walls as he searched her face with his eyes. She seemed to be serious. Could he risk it? If she ran away again, he'd fall to fucking pieces.

"Please," she said, softly. "This feels right."

He needed no more encouragement than that.

Leaning in to kiss her, letting the reality of what they were about to do wash over him, he murmured, "Okay. Whatever you say."

"Correct answer," she said, reaching back to undo her bra and letting it fall off her body. He nearly finished right there at the sight of her breasts. Pale and gorgeous with tight pink nipples, practically calling for his mouth.

As if on cue, his mouth dropped open.

She blushed and made a move to pull at his boxers, but he brushed her hand away. "I'm not done yet," he said. Oh, but it was hard to take this slowly. He wanted to jump her right there, bury himself inside of her so deeply that he forgot the horrible emptiness that had haunted him all week. Still, he coached himself silently as he pulled down her knickers, his pulse speeding up considerably when she spread her legs for him and he saw the sliver of bright pink just below the triangle of soft hair.

The rest happened like clockwork. He climbed over her as she pushed his boxers down to his knees with her feet. There was no positioning needed - they were perfectly aligned - wet and taut and searing hot. The smallest thrust of his hips, and he was inside of her, the heavenly feeling of her walls tightening around his cock amplified by her cry of pleasure. Hearing her vocalize so loudly made turned something primal on inside of him, and he began moving in and out of her, guttural gasps and groans being pulled from his throat. He sped up, and she cried louder. He slowed down, and she whimpered. He pulled out, flipped her over and fucked her on her hands and knees, hard and rough, nearly losing it at the sight of her arse smacking into his body with every thrust. She grabbed the headboard for support, lifting her torso and freeing up room for him to fondle her breasts as he pumped into her.

"Gods," he managed to murmur before his brain checked out. She was getting louder, crying and gasping and occasionally just shouting "yes!" to the room, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the bed. The headboard was slamming repeatedly against the wall. _Bang bang bang bang_. The plaster was crumbling under the attack. Dust formed a cloud around the craters.

Neither of them cared.

His hand left her chest and travelled down between her legs, where he could feel his cock entering her. It was a surreal sensation, and he let his eyes flutter shut, immersing himself in the moment. "Holy fuck," he whispered, running his fingers over her folds, her slippery centre, and then back up to her clit, where he rubbed tiny circles with the pads of his fingers. Enough to make her lose her mind, but not so much that she lost the finesse of each stroke. Just the right amount of pressure to counteract that pounding that was taking place south of her clit. Just enough to make her wail.

And she did.

He sped up his movements, pistoning in and out of her like a machine. Her name slid out of his lips.

That did it. One sharp cry as he continued to finger her clit, and then a sob, and then an explosion as her body went rigid.

Her voice disappeared as the feeling rippled through her, and knowing how close he was, he thrust into her three more times before emptying himself, shuddering with an orgasm that seemed to go on forever.

They stayed like that for several moments, catching their breath, he still inside her and she still on her knees, clutching the headboard.

His fingers were soaking wet.

Her legs were shaking.

Eventually, he heard her swallow and then lick her lips, taking a deep breath.

"Again?" she said.


	23. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Aw, you guys love your smut. It warms my heart. So... I'm hovering very close to having 1000 reviews, and I've never gotten that high before... Think you could help me make it?! I would love you forever! (Okay, I already love you forever, but it would make me really happy.) Also, thanks to all of you who popped over to the new blog to say hi! I've got to be careful not to spend all my time staring at pictures of beautiful tattooed men on Tumblr. Helloooooo my pretty. ANYWAYS. This chapter has a bit of smut, and a bit of serious. Please review! Like, SUPER PLEASE! xo Galfoy_

* * *

Hermione stared at the hairline crack in her ceiling.

She had never noticed it before, and indeed, given how old and badly-maintained her building was, there's no reason why she would have seen it among the myriad of flaws that spotted the walls. But still. It was above her now, and it had captured her attention. A spidery little fissure that branched out from the light in the middle of the room and petering out about a hand's length away, seemingly going nowhere.

Cracks were funny things. They could mean nothing… That the paint was incorrectly applied, perhaps, or that the drywall had shifted slightly over time and strained the otherwise-smooth ceiling. They could be as inconsequential as a spider's web.

But.

They could also mean that there was a weakness in the structure, that it was the first sign of trouble, and that everything was about to cave in and swallow the ground beneath it. One tiny crack opening up to become a gaping cavern, a crumbling abyss of death and destruction, ready to crush everything beneath it.

Right now, she felt as if she was that crack. She was a sign of trouble, of weakness, of an impending collapse.

Draco stirred beside her, and she glanced over at his sleeping face.

God, he was perfect. He really was. Pale, almost fragile skin, with equally pale hair, tousled and pointing out in all directions from having her fingers raking through it all night. Pulling. Smoothing. Pulling again. They went from a primal fuck to a soft caress and everything in between. She was sore and sated and she would never forget last night as long as she lived.

Unfortunately, it had also served to compound her current predicament: she was fucked in a far less pleasant sense, too.

Hermione loved Draco. In a way, she had known the truth of her feelings since he rescued her, but couldn't come to terms with it until now. It seemed too soon, too strange. After last night, however, there was no point in hiding it. She knew it in her bones; she knew that no matter what the details of this trait were, no matter the circumstances of him coming back into her life, she had always been meant to love him. It was like a fairy tale, but not the fluffy modern-day sort.

This was of the Grimms' variety.

There was gore and death. The endings weren't always happy. The characters were convoluted and flawed. People did bad things, made terrible choices. Most importantly, love didn't always have the answers.

So where was she to get the answers from?

When she was holed up in Harry's guest house, when she wasn't busy getting physically ill at the reality of being away from Draco, she had nothing to do but think. And feel. And analyze.

Her realization that she loved Draco came quickly, almost immediately, in fact. This meant she had the rest of week to think about everything else. About how she had ended up where she was. About what she had gone through. About what was going on inside of her.

It took two days before she started to think about the pills again.

They snuck into her thoughts. _Draco, Draco, Draco, pills_. Like a whisper. So quiet she almost didn't notice. But then it got louder. _Draco, Draco, pills, pills, pills_….

Convinced she was imagining things, she tried to push it out of her mind. Narcissa's potion had gotten rid of her addiction. There was no reason the pills would come back to haunt her now. Right? The potion had taken her problems away.

Like magic.

But soon, thoughts of the pills became almost too much to handle, and it occurred to Hermione that just because the potion had removed the drugs from her system, that didn't mean her brain was fixed. Physical addiction was one thing, but mental addiction was another. Only one of those was under control. She would never tell anyone this, but with the mix of being separated from Draco and having no vices to help cope, she had started going down a very dark path. She stayed in that dark place for several more days until her instincts told her to get back to Draco. Those instincts may have saved her life. She uttered the spell that would demolish the building with only a faint twinge of remorse, knowing there would be plenty of time to feel guilty later on. There she was, delirious from a week in solitary confinement, her clothing singed from the explosion, running towards the portkey she had hidden on Harry's property.

And then, before whisking herself away, she made a very bad decision. She took one tiny detour. Just to see.

When she left France, she didn't leave empty-handed. She had a souvenir, something she should never have taken, but that she felt compelled to grab anyway.

It was in the pocket of her jeans. It was tormenting her. She loved Draco, that much she knew. But her problems were, as usual, much more complicated than they seemed.

Not wanting to think about her situation any longer, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and blocked out the crack that had started this torturous train of thought. She wasn't sure what to do about the pills, and she wasn't sure what to do about Draco's family, but she was sure about one thing: at least, this time around, she wasn't trying to manage everything alone. If things got really out of hand, Draco would listen. He would help.

At least she had that.

Turning on her side, she pressed her body against his back and wrapped her arms around his chest.

At least she had him.

* * *

Draco woke up slowly to the sensation of Hermione's arms snaking around his body, her face burying itself between his shoulder blades.

He kept his eyes shut, savouring the feeling. It was hard to believe this was really happening. After the hell on wheels that was the previous week, and the tumult of the week before, and the sadness and anger of the years before that, he finally felt good. Great, even. Better than great. He felt so amazing that he was worried that it could all come crashing down. After the things he had done in his life, was he worthy of this kind of happiness?

He could only hope.

Images from the night before started to filter into his brain, and a smile spread across his face. What was there to say? There was sex, and then there was... _That_. Sex was too small a word to describe what they had done, how it had felt, what it meant. Although she had made it clear that the courtship part of their arrangement was to be paced and measured, the rule didn't apply to what they did behind closed doors. Once the clothes hit the floor, neither of them had wanted to go slowly.

Fine by him. Christ, was it ever fine by him. What a way to end several years of War-imposed celibacy. Out with a bang, pun intended.

If only they could stay right here. Wrapped around each other, comfortably sunk into the mattress, blissfully happy in this simple little bedroom in a clunky old building in a boring part of town. Covered only by a cheap white coverlet that was ratty at the corners. Probably no food in either of their flats, and a generous layer of dust on everything, but Draco didn't care. This was heavenly. He never wanted to leave.

Inevitably, his smile slowly faded as he took inventory of the things awaiting them on the outside.

His parents. They needed to know she was safe. Come to think of it, he didn't even know if his father had returned from his weird excursion... Draco had been too busy wallowing in his own misery to ask. Either way, a trip to the Manor was in order, and he would have to make it clear to the elder Malfoys that Hermione was not to be hassled about joining the family. They would date as long as it took for her to feel comfortable - years, if that's what she wanted. She needed time to transition from her old life - one of Weasley, addiction, loss - to her new reality. One that included Draco, a thriving business, and hopefully, the balance she was seeking. She wanted a break from the stress and the drama, and she would get it.

If he was being honest, she would get anything she asked for.

The other things could wait a little longer, but would have to be addressed eventually. He had ignored Trebax all week, and owed Blaise an incalculable debt for holding down the fort while he was out of commission. Potter too. And actually, if they had indeed asked Pansy to come and lure Hermione out, his friends had helped him more than he could explain. Friends. Plural. Seemed odd to have those again.

Weasley and McLorrow would be dealt with much later on when Hermione was feeling strong enough to handle some hostility. The lawsuit would run its course, which was fine, and Draco would help with whatever Hermione needed to cut her ties with Weasley completely. From now on, the red-headed git was all past tense. He'd caused them both enough pain to last a lifetime, and Draco planned to made sure the tosser never got to so much as look at Hermione ever again.

From now on, only Draco would get to see her like this. In bed. Happily undone. It made him feel like anything was possible.

Maybe, if she wanted, they could get a flat together down the line.

Maybe she even wanted kids one day. Maybe not. They could talk about it whenever she felt ready.

Either way, the future didn't seem as bleak as he once feared.

Hermione stirred behind him and yawned, sinking her face back between his shoulder blades and placing a small kiss there. "You awake?" she murmured.

"Yeah," he said, his voice scratchy. Her hand lay flat against his chest, and he smoothed his over hers.

"I don't remember my bed ever being this comfortable," she yawned again. "It's better with you in it."

"I'm happy to stay here as long as you like," he replied. He could feel her smiling against his skin.

"Well, we should probably go tell your folks that I'm okay," she said. "I left pretty suddenly last time, and they probably don't know that I'm back yet."

He sighed, slightly relieved that she had brought it up. "That's true. They've been worried. We don't need to stay there long, if you don't want."

"I don't mind staying a while," she said, shyly. "I'd like to get to know them a little better."

"Hermione, you don't need to say that to placate me," he said, chuckling. "I know they're a bit intense."

"They love you very much," she said, shrugging slightly against his back. "That's something I can understand."

Something purred in his chest at her words. He opened his mouth several times to respond, but couldn't come up with a response. He cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he said, eventually.

"Listen, Draco..." she said, sounding guilty. "When I was talking to your mother's portrait, I... I said some things about being a Malfoy that I don't feel very proud of."

Draco turned over to face her, and smiled at how worried she looked. "Hermione, you of all people know that my family is far from perfect. You've got the scars to prove it."

"But still... I wasn't being very fair. I know you've changed, and I can see that your parents have changed... Or they are changing, at least. It wasn't right of me to dredge up the past."

"Sure it was. Anything you have to say about being a Malfoy is probably true, anyway. We haven't exactly been the most upstanding family. All I can promise is that since you came into the picture, my parents have been trying very hard to do the right thing. They like you. They want to make this right."

"That's nice to hear," she said, tracing his lips with her fingers.

"It's true," he said, leaning in to place a line of soft kisses along her collarbone. With that movement, he foggily realized that they were still completely naked, and felt himself harden startlingly fast, his length pressing against her thigh as he moved down to suckle her breast.

She moaned softly, and opened her legs a bit wider.

"When do we want to leave to go to the Manor?" she said, dreamily.

"Let's give ourselves a couple of hours," he said. "That'll put us there at around 11am, and we need at least ten minutes to get ready."

"And the other hour and fifty minutes?" she asked, shivering as he ran his finger over her clit and continued south. Still wet. Still ready. It was his lucky morning.

Instead of answering, he gently pulled her knee up to hook around his hip, and entered her slowly, knowing she was probably still sore from his less-gentle affections the night before. He hissed at the sensation of her warm, wet centre tightening around his cock, and her nails dug into his back with a pleasant sting.

"I need the other hour and fifty minutes to lavish you in attention," he said. "Are you okay with that?"

She whimpered in response as he began to rock in and out of her

"I'll take that as a yes," he murmured, picking up the speed of his thrusts, realizing he would never grow tired of hearing the slap of his body against hers. He would never grow tired of any of this.

"Yes," she said.

_Yes, yes, yes yes yes yes yesyesyesyesyes_.

* * *

Harry surveyed the pile of smoking rubble with a frown. He'd never been particularly attached to the guest house, and given that he'd never actually had guests over, it was sorely neglected, but still. It was _his_, and Hermione had blown it up.

With a sigh, he rubbed his scar out of habit and cast a quick spell to make sure the fire was truly out. Losing a building was one thing... But having it ignite the woods was quite another. Better safe than sorry. He trudged back along the path to the main house, hidden from view behind the tall trees and the sloping hills.

Truly, this had been the strangest couple of weeks in recent memory. What started off as being frightening and frustrating - Ron's erratic behaviour, Hermione's addiction, her subsequent overdose - morphed into something else entirely - Draco becoming an unlikely hero, Hermione saving his business - culminating in a Malfoy-style mindfuck. A gene that occasionally created a Malfoy in need of a mate? _Of course_ a family that unusual would have a nice old-fashioned mating trait built into the bloodline. All the older magical families often had quirky oddities to deal with, but he'd never had to witness it first hand like this.

In context, Hermione's reaction was completely unsurprising, and the fallout was fascinating to watch, if not a bit nerve-wracking. If there was any doubt that this was the real thing, Draco's downward spiral was the proof. It was also a telling sign that Hermione literally had to bespell herself captive to keep away from him. Stubborn girl.

Still, what a ride. _Fated_. Two people who used to be enemies. Strange, but also a bit encouraging. If they could love each other, there was hope for everyone else. Maybe even him.

Harry looked up and saw with relief that he had reached his home. White painted wood siding, green-trimmed windows, complete with picturesque vines growing up the sides. The only sound was the clucking of the chickens and the rustle of the grass. It was almost comically idyllic. This place had been his refuge after the War, after losing Ginny and so many other loved ones. It had kept him intact. The seclusion had suited him initially, but he was starting to appreciate his time in London again. Perhaps distance really did make the heart grow fonder. It had been good to spend time around friends lately, although the strangeness of his new colleagues wasn't lost on him. Shifting from Ron to Draco and Blaise was a bit of a shock to the system. Honestly, the Ron situation made him indescribably sad, but there was nothing he could do. He refused to be friends with someone who treated Hermione so callously. Ron had changed too much, all for the worst. At least Blaise and Draco looked after Hermione properly.

With the squeak of the old doorknob, Harry let himself and and made a quick cup of tea, sitting down in his reading chair to decompress a bit. As strange as this whole situation was, he was actually touched by how deeply Draco had fallen for Hermione, and was pleased to see she finally felt the same back. Hermione deserved that sort of love... Intense, unstoppable, all-encompassing. The whole thing was just so _Malfoy_. It seemed Draco either hated people, tolerated them, or worshipped them.

Apparently Hermione was his queen.

She would have to get used to it, but in the end, it was probably good for her to be appreciated after so many years of neglect. And actually, their affection was having a ripple effect... Blaise had disappeared very quickly with Pansy after they had been banished from Trebax. Even Slytherins needed love. They just liked to pretend that they didn't.

He sipped his tea and let his eyes wander around his living room. This was nice. Calming. Everything was just as he left it.

_Wait_.

There was something on the rug. Something new. Harry put down his tea and dropped to his hands and knees to inspect.

It was ash.

He felt his blood slow, and connected the dots in sluggish horror. Hermione had been here. Inside. She had gotten past his wards.

Shooting to his feet, he ran upstairs to the spare room, pulling open the bedside drawer and rifling around. _Stupid stupid stupid_. After he'd raided Hermione's flat, he'd wasted no time disposing of the pills. The prescription pads, however, were another story. He'd forgotten about them for a while, leaving them to languish in his bag, and then tossed them in the bedside table later on when he noticed them there. He had always planned to get rid of them, but he didn't feel a sense of urgency like he did with the pills.

Three prescription pads.

One was missing.

_Fuck_. He had to find Hermione, like, _now_.


	24. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Woo! This story is nearing its end. Kinda crazy. It sure wound up a whole lot longer than I planned a first. Glad so many of you appreciate the addiction theme coming back around. Don't we all wish it was as simple as taking a magic potion and POOF goes dependency? Le sigh. If only. Okay, I've got a little more for you after this chapter, but I'm going to take the weekend off again to tweak and snip and edit. I'll give you the option (same as a few weeks ago) to review like maniacs and convince me to post on Sunday instead of Monday, but that will require a whole assload of silent readers to chime in. You regulars are motherfucking monsters! And I mean that in a good way! I'll miss seeing your names pop up once this story is done. You quiet folk... I'll let you decide how you want this to go down. Hey, you sure managed to convince me last time! That shit was impressive! xo Galfoy_

* * *

With a squeak of her bare fingers, Hermione rubbed clear a section of the steamy mirror and proceeded to brush the tangles out of her hair, attacking them with determined focus. The white strands mingled with the brown strands, wrapping around the bristles as she tugged mercilessly at the mess. She admired the contrast for a moment before continuing with her mission. Draco was asleep again, and she was using the quiet to her advantage: getting ready to meet the Malfoys, but this time praying that she wouldn't run away in tears.

Sounded straightforward enough. It was just all about the execution.

The anxiety she felt about the allure of the prescription pad still had her stomach in a twist, but the longer she spent cocooned away with Draco, the more it seemed like a fluke. She had grabbed the pad under extreme duress, after all. Now that she was safe, stress free, and ready to start a new life, her fixation with the pills would die away... Wouldn't it? The pad itself was harmless. It's not like she was going to go fill it out.

Most likely.

As for the visit, she hoped with all her might that it was going to go well. Narcissa was anything but boring, and Hermione felt sure that with some time, they could find common ground. At very least, even though the potion hadn't snuffed out the addiction the way Narcissa probably hoped, it proved that she wanted Hermione to be well. That was an important thing to know, especially since they she probably going to be her mother-in-law one day.

The more she thought about it, that concept seemed less and less frightening. Interesting how things changed when she didn't feel pressured.

Lucius still came off as being distant and cold, but he had certainly improved since the War. They didn't even duel the last time they met. It was a start. _Anything_ was a start with him. Maybe one day he'd warm up to her. Perhaps they could even say more than a few cutting words to one another in the future. Imagine that.

Regardless, it came down to this: she loved their son, and she was determined to be with him. Yes, they would pace things, but she felt good about their chances. Great, actually. Even when she didn't feel the pull of the trait, she noticed how well they were suited to each other. It was like her hair: she had started to admire the contrast. It was almost funny how she didn't see it before. Perhaps she had always been too busy hating Draco to notice. Too busy chasing Ron.

Those days were gone.

Pulling on her clothes, Hermione exited the bathroom and walked over to the front door, humming all the while.

"Someone sounds happy," said Draco's voice from the bedroom, smugly. Apparently he was awake after all.

"Oh, you just want to boast," she teased, catching his eye from where she stood. Frankly, he had plenty to boast about. She had never felt so satisfied. "But yes. I'm very happy."

"That's what I like to hear," he said, reclining in bed. "You're still feeling up to seeing my parents?"

"Of course," Hermione said, grabbing the stack of mail from outside her door. "We have a few things to talk to them about, and besides, I'm not sure anyone's told them that I'm back."

"True," Draco yawned. "I guess it was the last thing on my mind. Got a bit distracted."

"Understandable," she smiled as she looked through the mail. "That's funny. There's mail for you in this pile."

"Really? From who?"

"Judging by the crest, I'd say it's from your parents. I think the building's sorting system routed the letter here. And before that, it looks like it went to the Trebax office. I guess it's been in transit for a while. I can't decide if that's creepy or convenient."

"We'll settle for convenient for now," he smirked. "I'll read it in a minute. I'm not quite ready for reality just yet. They're probably just wondering if I'm still alive. I haven't exactly been social this past week. I guess that means my father's back, though."

"Was he away?" she asked, tossing a flyer for a free love potion sample into the trash. _That's _one thing she'd never need to try.

"Yeah. Not entirely sure what he was up to. You know how secretive those Malfoys are."

Hermione grinned as she sorted the bills to the side and looked at the rest. The day's Prophet was rolled up, but she didn't feel like reading gossip. That left one letter in a rather bulky-looking envelope.

Her nerves stirred as she saw the handwriting. That was Ron's scrawl.

"How odd," she said, opening the letter with trepidation.

"What's odd?" said Draco from under his pile of blankets.

"It's just that… One of these letters…" she trailed off as she read the note, her expression changing dramatically.

Draco strained his neck to see her through the open bedroom door. "You okay?" he said, trying not to sound as concerned as he felt. She looked like she had seen a ghost, all the colour drained from her face.

"Draco, this is from Ron," she said, looking up at him.

"What?" he replied, sharply. "Why is that tosser writing you? I'm surprised his letters can even get through your wards."

"He never writes, so I never thought to adjust them," she said, still reading. "It says there's evidence that he's not responsible for everything that happened. He wants to meet to discuss it."

"Fat fucking chance," Draco snapped, sitting up now and looking disgruntled. "How could he not be responsible? And he wants to meet you? Alone? Over my dead body."

"There's something here about Malectio potion," she said, squinting. "Something about Rodolphus. Ginny, too. I can barely read his chicken scratch."

Draco was in his boxers and on his feet in seconds, walking towards her with a frown. He took the letter from her hands and read it over.

"Imbecile writes like a toddler," he said, coldly. "But yes, I can make out Rodolphus's name. That man is a psychopath. I sincerely hope he doesn't have his fingers in any of this. He's nothing but trouble."

"I remember him," she said, suppressing a shudder. "They were all bad, but he was really one of the worst. The more blood he could see, the happier he was."

Draco looked at her and noticed her fidgeting hands. She was nervous.

"I don't like this," he said, bluntly. "I've got a bad feeling about it."

"So do I," she replied. "Things are finally starting to calm down. I don't want to do this again. I don't want any more drama."

"Maybe we should meet with my parents first before you decide what you want to do. They knew Rodolphus. Maybe they've got information on him. We can figure out if Weasley is for real before agreeing to anything."

"Good idea," she said. "And honestly, even if Ron was fed a potion, that doesn't just make everything okay. I studied that stuff in school. Malectio sways your judgement, but it's hardly the Imperio. You still need to have the impulse to do those things."

Draco read the legible parts of the note again, and then snorted. "Sodding arse," he said. "Listen to this: _I know Malfoy would never let you out of his sight, but I need to see you. I'm including something to help things along_. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Hermione frowned and picked up the envelope, shaking it out. Something fell onto the counter. They both stared.

"It's my engagement ring," she said, shocked.

"I'm going to murder that fucker," Draco seethed. "He's gone too far."

"Honestly, what is he thinking?" she said, annoyed. "I'm not just going to go see him with these paltry scraps of information. Does he think the ring will make me nostalgic?"

Draco tore open the letter from his parents, trying to get his mind off murdering Ron. The git had some nerve trying to convince Hermione to go running back to him. He'd blown it. No silly story about a potion was going to make it better. Hermione was too smart to believe that rubbish. Thank Merlin she saw right through it.

Then, as he read his mother's perfect handwriting, he felt everything go still.

"Hermione," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I think we have a problem."

"There's no problem," she said curtly, tossing Ron's note on the counter near the ring. "I'm through with this nonsense. My life is finally starting to feel less chaotic, and I'm not looking for some sort of romantic rematch. I'll look into his claims, but for now, I'm just going to take this ring and throw it in the - "

His instincts flared up half a second too late. _Something to help things along_. Something to take Hermione out of his sight. It clicked in his mind right as her fingers touched the metal.

The ring wasn't there to make her nostalgic… It was there to make her disappear.

Before he could even open his mouth, the portkey sucked her away.

A dragon roared inside of him.

* * *

Draco raced down the path towards the Manor, his breath ragged and shaky, the trait surging through his body, howling at the fact that Hermione was taken from him. It was screaming inside his chest, demanding vengeance. It would get what it wanted, he was sure. The gate opened much faster than usual as he raced through. Perhaps it could tell that he was beyond patience. He would have blown the thing to kingdom come.

His parents were waiting for him on the front step. They would have felt him apparate onto the grounds, but their presence meant that they could very clearly tell that something was wrong. Lucius had a serious expression on his face as though he was ready for a mission. Narcissa wasn't smiling, her forehead creased into a worried frown.

Draco was too full of corrosive emotions to bother with formalities, and he was too angry not to explode.

"How could you have done that without speaking to me first?!" he screamed, startling both of them. "How could you have sent that stuff to Weasley?"

Narcissa sent an alarmed look to Lucius, but stepped forward to calm her son. "Draco, you've been locked in your office all week. You've been refusing to see anyone. We wrote you the note to explain everything. We thought we'd give you a chance to digest the information before Hermione came back. It seemed like the best way to go about it. You should have received it last night… The same time we sent the package to Mister Weasley."

"I wasn't at the office," he said, gasped for air. "And I wasn't at my place."

"Where were you?" Lucius asked.

Draco placed his hands on his knees and fought he urge to be sick. "At Hermione's. She came back. We were going to come see you this morning."

"We had no idea," Narcissa said, quietly. "We would have waited otherwise. Draco, please believe that we didn't mean any harm… We sent the information to Mister Weasley as a peacemaker. He has lost a lot, including Hermione. We were trying to do the right thing."

"Since when do either of you care about doing to right thing?" Draco cried.

His parents looked at each other uncomfortably.

"We have yet to establish that," Lucius said. "It's an inconvenient compulsion, I assure you. Nonetheless, we wanted to start everything with a clean slate. We didn't know Hermione had returned."

"Well, she's gone again," Draco said, his fractured breathing making his voice sound like a sob. "Because Weasley, although perhaps not a prick to the extreme that we might have thought, is still a fucking SODDING PRICK."

"Draco, please tell us what happened," Narcissa said, touching his arm. "You're frightening me."

"He sent her a letter," he said, trying to calm down. "He said he wanted to meet with her to talk about things. He included her old engagement ring inside. It was a portkey."

Lucius growled. Narcissa's lips tightened.

"She didn't want to go," he said. "We were talking about coming to see you first. We had such a good night… Such a good morning… She doesn't want this! But she touched the ring... And I don't know where he's taken her."

There was a loud CRACK and the Malfoys whipped around to see Harry running down the path.

"Bloody hell," Draco said. "I'm not in the mood for Boy Wonder right now."

"Are you ever in the mood for Boy Wonder?" Narcissa asked. She seemed genuinely curious.

"Draco! I've been looking for you everywhere!" Harry yelled, sprinting towards the trio. He slid to a stop and realized that Lucius and Narcissa were staring at him. There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Uh, Malfoys," he nodded, clearly not wanting to dwell on the uncomfortable situation any longer than necessary.

They both nodded coolly.

"Listen, Draco, we have a problem," Harry panted.

"I know, Potter," Draco said, rubbing his forehead. "Turns out Weasley wasn't totally responsible for his actions, and he got it into his head that he had to talk to Hermione, and be mailed her a fucking portkey – "

"What?!"

" – And now she's gone, and I don't know where she is."

Harry shook his head, trying to comprehend what Draco was saying. "Not responsible… I don't…"

"Do I have to explain it now?" Draco snapped. "Hermione's missing again. She's with Weasley against her will. I need to find her."

"I agree, and you can explain later, but the problem is bigger than just Ron. Ron just complicates things."

"How?" said Narcissa, still marvelling at the fact that the two boys were carrying on a discussion without their wands raised.

"Hermione stayed on my land, unbeknownst to me, for the past week," he said to the Malfoys so they understood the context. "I went back to check on the place, and there's something missing."

"Uh, like your guest house, you dunce?" Draco said, knowing he was being cruel, but well past the point of caring.

"No. A prescription pad for Muggle drugs."

There was a heavy silence. Narcissa swore.

"Blaise told me what you did to help her, Mrs. Malfoy, but I think she's still struggling with the addiction," Harry said. "And if what Draco says is true, she's in a very stressful situation right now."

"We have to find her!" said Narcissa, obviously distressed. "She could relapse! The potion gets rid of physical addiction, but I hadn't really considered mental dependency. Muggle drugs aren't quite the same. I hadn't factored it in."

"There's more," Harry said. "Have any of you seen today's Prophet?"

They all shook their heads. Harry held up the newspaper, a grim look on his face.

HERMIONE GRANGER ADDICTED TO MUGGLE DRUGS! SCANDAL ERRUPTS OVER WAR HEROINE'S DIRTY LITTLE SECRET

"No," Narcissa whispered. "Who would do this? Tell me it's not the Weasley boy!"

"It's not. I saw this as soon as I arrived in London and did some sleuthing while I was looking for Draco. Seems Ron cut off the engagement with Stacey and she retaliated. I think Ron told her everything a while ago, not realizing she would use it against him in the future. She sold the story last night for a hefty sum. I'm not sure if Hermione's seen it yet."

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose. "Lovely," he muttered.

"That slimy little bitch," Narcissa seethed. "Where does she get off hurting Hermione like this? She's ruined her reputation!"

"That's the point," Harry said. "I'll bet she's going to use that money and Hermione's reputation as an addict to try and beat that court case."

Draco unleashed a litany of colourful language.

"If I may," said Lucius, with sudden forced cheer. "I'd like to suggest that Draco and Harry go find Hermione while Narcissa and I stay here and look after some… Business."

"But I could get the Prophet to print a retraction," Harry said. "I could – "

"The damage is done," Lucius said shaking his head. He leaned in, pretending to take the newspaper from Harry's hand, and whispered in his ear: "Your job is to stop Draco from killing the Weasley boy. A conviction could further complicate things."

"Yeah, plus he may not want to become a murderer," Harry said, looking rather perturbed at Lucius's blasé explanation.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Lucius said with a tight smile. They both looked at Draco, who had started twitching with anger.

"Fair point," Harry whispered. "Draco," he said, more loudly. "Let's go. I'm sure we can find them. I've got some ideas on where we could look."

Draco nodded stiffly, murmuring a goodbye to his parents and breaking into a run as the unlikely pair headed to the apparition point. Both Malfoys watched them leave, standing like royalty in front of their castle.

"Narcissa darling?" Lucius said, his voice eerily pleasant.

"Yes dear?" she replied in the same tone.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Do tell."

"Our first foray into being empathetic did not go very smoothly."

"Very true," she sighed. "To be fair, we don't really have much practice."

"Oh, agreed. It's much harder than it looks. One would have thought that being sentimental required very little brain power. It turns out that it's a remarkably complex pastime."

"Well put, Lucius," Narcissa said.

"Now, while I am not going to simply give up on the concept, I do believe it's time we remind ourselves what we're good at."

A dark smile slid across Narcissa's face. She stepped towards Lucius so that their noses were almost touching.

"Which is?"

"Defending the family. Oh, and revenge, of course."

"What sort of revenge?" she whispered.

"The bloody kind," he smirked.

"I like the way you think," she replied. "May I?"

Lucius nodded.

Narcissa turned her head and looked out into the field, making soft kissing noises in the direction of Queenie's stable.

"This is going to be fun," she said happily as her pet rose into the air. "I love going hunting."


	25. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Whooooah! You guys win! I'm always amazed at how many of you there are when everyone comes out to comment. Fucking awesome. Here's the chapter, as promised. Now... I should tell you... This is the second last chapter. That means tomorrow is our last day together (cue my melodramatic sobbing). Seriously, I'm super flattered at the response to this story. Your enthusiasm makes me want to keep writing, and I've already got another one in mind. Let's see if it survives (I only publish one in about six stories that I write because I'm a liiiiitle critical). Hope you like this chap, and hope you're ready for tomorrow! Dun-dun-dunnnnn. xo Galfoy (Oh, ahem, please review?)_

* * *

Hermione landed with a stumble in a bumpy field, the sharp grass pinching her clothes as she staggered for balance. Flustered and scared, with the portkey squeezed tightly in her fist, she looked around.

Where was she?

"We're a couple fields down from the Burrow," said Ron. Hermione whipped around to see him standing several feet away, shifting awkwardly from one leg to the other. There was no malice in his eyes. He gave her a sheepish smile.

"So… The portkey worked? And Malfoy didn't manage to tag along? Not bad for a hasty plan."

Hermione stared at him. In some ways, Ron had changed almost unrecognizably since their school days: aspects of his personality, for example, or the way he had filled out to look like a full-grown man besides all evidence to the contrary. In other ways, he was exactly the same. _Exactly_. One thing that would never change was Ron's inability to think a plan through to the end. This was a case in point, and this was also going to have quite an end. She sucked in an angry breath, not trusting herself to speak.

"Hey, your hair is striped," he said, smiling nervously now under her intense glare. "Bit of a weird style for you, don't you think, 'Mione?"

She continued to stare at him, her fists opening and closing, her arms shaking. Something was happening to her. She felt a rolling, boiling fury building up inside her chest. A growl fought its way up her throat and she pushed it down.

She twitched from the effort.

He cleared his throat, unsure what to make of her silence. "You look beautiful, of course."

Her eyes narrowed. The growl escaped.

His eyes widened.

"Uh, listen, I know the portkey was a bit abrupt, but I just really had to see you. I was sent this package last night. Well, this vial, actually, with this letter... And uh..."

Her gaze didn't waver. Ron was starting to lose his nerve, but stuttered onward.

"What I mean to say is, I… I had thought all these years that Lucius Malfoy had killed Ginny, but it turns out it was Rodolphus. He was feeding me a potion, too. Mal – "

"Malectio," she finished, her voice cold.

"Right, right," he rushed, hearing the anger in her voice. "So all that bad stuff I did… It wasn't really me, 'Mione. To Malfoy, to you, to just about everyone, I guess. It wasn't really me."

"Wasn't really you," she repeated.

"Yeah," he said, looking encouraged. "Don't you see what this means? I'm back to normal. We can be together. You don't need to punish me by being with Malfoy."

Her mouth dropped open in shock. He promptly misunderstood.

"Oh, I know all about you two," he said, casually. "I've been following Blaise around a bit; eavesdropping to get updates, since I couldn't actually get close to you. At first I thought it was just a way to make me jealous, but I guess you think you actually like the bloke. 'Mione, you don't need to bother anymore. I broke it off with Stacey. Not even really sure how that happened to begin with, honestly, but it doesn't matter… We can get back together. Like before."

"Like before," she echoed, feeling her voice teetering on the edge of what was about to become a shrill scream.

He blinked nervously. "You keep saying what I'm saying," he said, dumbly.

"Ron," she said, fighting to keep calm long enough to express her condolences. "I'm glad you found out the truth about Ginny. Really. I know it was hard for you to manage your grief over the years. I'm happy you can put that pain to rest."

He smiled, his shoulders relaxing.

"I'm also sorry to hear you've been a victim of Rodolphus's this whole time. I'll be very curious to hear all the details at a later date."

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"HOWEVER."

He swallowed heavily.

"We are not, ever, getting back together. And how fucking DARE you bring me here without my express consent. Are you out of your mind? You couldn't let me choose to come here on my own? Do you really think that makes a good case for your judgement? All you've done is prove that I've made the right decision."

"But – "

"Let me tell you something about Malectio potion, Ronald. It behaves like a voice in your head, always taunting you to act on your bad ideas, yes?"

Ron nodded, anxiously.

"But you still have to have those ideas in the first place," she whispered, her fury simmering under her words. "You understand what I'm getting at?"

"Well, it's not like I – "

"Stop. You will not back-peddle out of this, Ronald Weasley. You will shut up and listen to what I have to say. With or without that potion, you were an absent partner. An absolute shite partner, in fact. I may have put all my energy into hiding my addiction, but you didn't even have an inkling anything was wrong."

"But – "

"I have been struggling with the grief of losing my parents since the War, and you have been too busy brooding and plotting to talk to me about it."

"But – "

"You have ogled other women for _years_ – the potion just helped things along. Your heart was far from faithful."

"But – "

"I have been trying, and failing, to hold it together, all the while feeling that I couldn't even confide in the person I was supposed to marry. You took me for granted so wholeheartedly that you weren't even trying anymore. I didn't get any support from you. No attention. No affection."

"But – "

"You know who gives me all those things? Who notices the second something is wrong? Who can tell when I'm lying? Who cares to check in on me? Who ignores other romantic prospects no matter how willingly they offer themselves up? Draco Malfoy. He is rude, he's abrasive, and he is so in love with me he is probably tearing up London right now to find me. You'd better hope he finds me, and not you, because I swear to God he will make good on his last promise to you, Ron Weasley."

Ron snapped his mouth shut. This wasn't going how he planned it at all. She was defending Draco. She was rejecting his offer. And something else was wrong, too. Other than the uncharacteristic verbal lashing he was getting, Hermione's hair was changing right before his eyes.

It was slowly turning platinum.

What. The. Fuck.

"'Mione – "

"SHUT IT!" she screamed, throwing the ring on the ground. Another one of her brown locks shimmered and turned white. "You know what else is amazing? I love him too. Isn't that ridiculous? I've been scared out of my wits coming to terms with it, but I am completely in love with him. His parents probably detest me, but I'm in love with him. He hates everyone and everything, but I'm in love with him. The future I wanted to control so badly is in his hands whether or not I want it, and I'm starting not to care. Maybe it's good that I've got one absolute. One, beautiful absolute. I mean, God knows what happens when I make decisions these days. I'm a fucking _mess_, but if there is one damn thing I'm sure of, it's that I have never loved anyone like this, and I never will again."

Ron's mouth dropped open. Eighty percent of her hair was white, and she hadn't even noticed. She was too busy being hysterical.

"I'm done pretending to be strong," she said, tears springing to her eyes. "I'm fucked up, okay? Hiding it has only made me _more_ fucked up. I can't cope with anything anymore, but you know what? I'll find a way through. I've got someone I can count on now. You'll always be special to me, but you left me out to dry for _years _while I dug myself into a hole trying to keep you up. I can't spend my life with someone like that. It's not just the potion or the grief, Ron. We don't work together."

She started to cry then, messy, hacked sobs into her hands, and Ron's face crumpled with the reality of his situation. There was nothing he could say to convince her. She would never be his again.

She actually loved the tosser. Like, _love _love.

_Fuck_.

"I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely. "I guess… I guess I hadn't thought of it that way."

Hermione didn't answer, and continued to cry, crouching down on the ground and rocking back and forth, tears dripping off her chin. Ron felt horribly guilty all of a sudden, realizing how badly he had misread the situation. She was right. He was completely out of touch with what she wanted… What she needed.

She didn't need him.

He'd made her that way, too. Too little, too late. She had become scared to depend on people out of necessity. It was almost fitting that she had fallen for Malfoy, another person who hated to rely on others. They were perfectly suited. They could rely on each other, if no one else.

Ron knew he had lost. There was no point in making anything worse.

"If it helps, his parents don't detest you," Ron said, softly.

Hermione hiccupped, and looked up at him through watery eyes.

"They're the ones who sent me the information about Rodolphus. They said they wanted to do the right thing."

"Wh-what?"

Ron nodded. "And in the note, Narcissa had added a line that said Lucius had gone searching for your parents, and he found them, 'Mione. Rodolphus was behind that too. She said they were coming back, that he fixed their memories. She had scribbled it at the bottom, but I think she wanted me to know they were going to take good care of you. She wanted to prove they could make the right choices. That they had changed."

"She wrote that?" Hermione said. "Lucius found my parents? But... But I don't understand!"

"He was gone all week looking for them, apparently. Got a tip from Rodolphus and then left. I'm not sure how you managed to charm a bloke like Lucius Malfoy, Hermione, but I think it's a good sign. What Malfoy in their right mind would go on a mission like that unless they were serious about you? Like you said... They hate everyone. That's quite a vote of confidence."

He smiled at her. She looked too shocked to smile back.

"I can't pretend to like Draco," he continued. "I won't. He's a fucking tosser. But if he appreciates you the way you say, and his family has gone to such lengths to make you happy, I suppose I'm in no position to complain. They've got a better track record than me right now, and they fucking tortured you."

Hermione let out a combination of a laugh and a sob.

"There," Ron smiled. "That's better. It's good to hear you laugh again. It's been a long time."

He shuffled his feet some more and then looked back over his shoulder towards the Burrow.

"Listen… I'm going to go. I've screwed things up enough for one day, and I guess I've got some thinking to do."

She nodded, numbly.

"I'm also going to send an owl to Harry. I want to tell him about Ginny. She died protecting Neville, you know. Gryffindor right to the end. Maybe someday he'll even want to be in the same room as me again."

Hermione smiled sadly. "I'm sure he would love to hear from you," she said. "To hear about Ginny. He's been suffering too."

"I know," Ron said. "I've been an all-around failure since the War. Friend, boyfriend, whatever."

"We've all had our problems," she replied. "None of us are perfect."

Ron smiled at her, and then his smile faltered as her hair started to shimmer. It was turning brown again. The more she calmed down, the more it went back to normal, minus those stubborn streaks. He blinked.

"Something wrong?" she asked. "You just got a funny look on your face."

"No," he coughed. "Nothing wrong. Just… Yeah. No. Nothing. Um, I think you'll do well with the Malfoys. Just a hunch."

"Thanks, Ron," she said. "I think you might be right."

With an awkward wave, he disapparated.

Hermione sighed, wiping her face with her sleeve. Ron had actually understood. She was surprised, but relieved too. Relieved she didn't have to keep dredging up the past to make him get it. Relieved she didn't have to stun him to get out of there. Now she was emotionally exhausted and could probably curl up right here for a nap, but she knew Draco was frantically looking for her. It would be irresponsible to keep him worried any longer than necessary.

Something glinted on the ground in front of her.

It was the ring.

She stood up and straightened her shoulders, still looking at the small gold circle, shining in the sun.

_Fuck it_. He could come back and get it himself if he wanted it.

"Goodbye, former life," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but that would be a goddamn lie." She disapparated on the spot.

* * *

Hermione walked through her front door and looked around.

Draco wasn't there, but that was hardly a shock. He was probably losing his mind with worry somewhere. She would go to the Manor... Narcissa would know what to do. And maybe Lucius would be there too. She had so many questions for him, but she didn't know where to start. Part of her had trouble believing that the cold, callous man she knew had done something so out of character, but then again, Ron had nothing left to lie about.

Maybe Lucius really did find her parents.

Maybe it was true.

The thought of seeing her parents again made her heart swell. She had given up many times over. To be given hope like this was a terrifying, incredible feeling. After all these years, all this mourning, they might actually be okay. Even stranger? She might have Lucius to thank.

Amazing.

Her wand was on the counter, left there when the portkey had stolen her away. With a relieved sigh, she quickly walked over to grab it, but in picking it up, managed to knock over the pile of mail she had sorted earlier.

"Oh bollocks," she said, kneeling down to clean up the mess. She didn't have time for this. Merlin knew what Draco was doing. She needed to find him, and fast.

_Bills, bills, bills... Prophet_. Hermione froze. The newspaper had unraveled in the fall, and her own face looked out at her from the front page.

She read the headline.

Her vision swam.

Her stomach lurched.

She vomited all over the floor.

* * *

Draco was storming through the Leaky Cauldron with Harry when he felt it. A strong tug in his chest. A strange urgency.

"Harry..." he said slowly, coming to a stop.

Harry turned around, surprised to hear Draco using his first name, and even more surprised to see him clutching his chest.

"You okay mate? Do you need to go to St. Mungo's?" he asked, worried.

"No," Draco gasped. "I just... I have this funny feeling..." He winced.

Harry frowned. "Like cardiac arrest? Looks like cardiac arrest. Let's get you to a Healer. You're looking paler than usual, and that's a real feat."

"No, I mean I have a feeling from Hermione. Or about Hermione. I can't explain it, but I think I know where she is."

"Does this feeling tell you if she's okay?" Harry asked, cautiously.

"Not sure. I have to go. I'm going to go alone, if that's okay with you."

"Of course," Harry said. "Just let me know if anything's wrong. I'll stay here for half an hour so you'll know where to find me."

"Definitely," Draco said, wincing again as the feeling in his chest intensified. "Thanks for everything, by the way."

"That's what friends are for," Harry replied with a smirk, knowing it would annoy Draco.

Draco glared at him, but then his expression softened. "Yeah, maybe that's true."

"Of course it's true, you cynic. Now off you go."

With a nod, Draco ran out of the pub. A loud CRACK echoed against the walls as he disapparated.

Harry sat down, looking at the door for a while, wondering if Draco's weird intuition was the real thing. Hopefully it was. Hopefully Hermione was safe, and they could finally get a break for once. Harry had never seen more bad luck befall two people in such a short amount of time. Even worse, they were both his friends.

He'd been thinking a lot about his friends, lately. Wondering if maybe it was time to move back to London. Draco and Hermione couldn't seem to keep themselves out of trouble. Maybe he could help them - keep an eye out or something. Blaise had never resurfaced for air after disappearing with Pansy, but when he did, he might want someone to grab a pint with. Harry loved the farm, but chickens weren't very good company, as it turned out. He longed for something a little more. Something like what he had in school.

"Mister Potter?" said Tom. Harry looked over to see the barman holding an envelope.

"Letter for you," he said, handing over the note. "Just arrived." Harry frowned and took the letter, noting the messy scrawl on the outside. He knew the owner of the handwriting very well. Or at least, he used to. Ron hadn't written to him in quite some time. He debated with himself briefly before he decided he had nothing to lose.

Opening the envelope carefully, Harry began to read.

"Tom?" he said after a few minutes as he felt his chest tighten. "I'm going to need a Firewhiskey, if you don't mind."


	26. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

_Last chapter, my friends. Author's Note will be at the end today. Sniff sniff. _

* * *

Draco opened the door to Hermione's flat with extreme trepidation, walking in and praying that he wouldn't find her harmed. His eyes flitted around the main room. Silence. Nothing out of the ordinary, other than the pile of mail on the ground.

He did a double take.

The Prophet lay flat on the floor, the terrible headline screaming up at him. HERMIONE GRANGER ADDICTED TO MUGGLE DRUGS! SCANDAL ERRUPTS OVER WAR HEROINE'S DIRTY LITTLE SECRET.

So she had seen it. Somewhere in between here and Weasley, she had seen it. She must be shattered. This was everything she had hoped to avoid. His chest twinged again.

A sniffling sound could be heard behind the bathroom door.

"Oh thank God," he whispered, and let out the breath he had been holding, walking quietly over. The door was open a crack, squeaking sharply as he slipped in.

She was sitting in the bathtub, looking straight ahead, her eyes empty, tears streaming down her face, onto her shirt and dripping onto her jeans. She didn't look at him. She looked like she was in a trance.

Draco glanced around the small room, trying to figure out if she had taken anything, or if she was in immediate danger. The ground was littered with small pages, torn from a notepad. Dr. Granger was stamped at the top.

Each page was covered in writing.

_Dilaudid. OxyContin. Tramacet_. All in her loopy script. Draco picked up each one, reading the strange words, each one seeming more ominous than the last. So it was true - she had taken the pad. But had she actually gotten the drugs? Or had she written the prescriptions and then lost her nerve? Had Weasley hurt her in any way, or was this a reaction to the article?

"Hermione?" he said, quietly.

She blinked, and then slowly turned her head. His heart broke for her. She looked absolutely destroyed.

"I've been thinking," she said, hoarsely.

"Okay," he said, dropping to his knees and leaning against the tub. "What have you been thinking?"

"I've been thinking that I want to go to rehab," she said, raising a shaky hand to wipe her cheeks.

Draco looked at her quizzically.

"It's a place where Muggles get help for addictions," she said. "A bit like a hospital. I need some proper skills for coping without pills. Magic isn't going to fix this, Draco. I wrote those prescriptions. After everything, I still wrote those prescriptions. I'm past the point of knowing how to manage it on my own."

His expression was guarded. Did this mean she would be leaving again? "And... This rehab place specializes in this sort of stuff?"

She nodded. "Muggles haven't got potions and spells... They need other ways of dealing with their problems. I'd like to give it a chance. Even if it doesn't work, I need to try. I've really got nothing to lose. Or everything to lose, depending on how you look at it."

She looked so downtrodden as she spoke, as if the admission marked her lowest point. He could see how important this was to her.

"I think rehab is a great idea," Draco said, gently. "But I hope you'll understand if I get a flat right next door and hang out in the visitors' room every day."

She gave a watery chuckle, and wiped her eyes again.

"It was Stacey, wasn't it," she said. "She told the Prophet about me. I know Ron didn't do it, so it must've been her."

Draco nodded. "I'm sorry."

She sighed, playing with the tile on the side of the tub. "Well, it's not like they were printing lies, I guess. I'm an addict. A War heroine, bookworm drug addict. Stupid, isn't it? They didn't even have to lie. The story writes itself."

"Doesn't make it okay."

"I suppose."

As gently as he could, he picked up her free hand and kissed it, unsure how to communicate everything he was feeling. He wanted to tell her that he didn't care how broken she was. If anything, that made him love her more. He wanted to tell her that he was starting to understand where his mother was coming from. If Hermione would have been okay with it, he'd marry her tomorrow. He wanted to tell her that she gave his life meaning, that he would gladly spend the rest of his days with her, if she would let him. He wanted to tell her all of that, every last word.

Instead, he kissed her hand a second time. She smelled faintly of magnolia.

She smiled.

"You don't have to worry about Ron, by the way," she said. "No need to track him down or anything. I nearly took his head off for that stunt."

"Glad to hear it," he said, trying not to get too tense at the thought of the Weasel stealing Hermione away from him. "Bloody imbecile. If he wants to try that again, I'll take his head off myself."

"He fucked up, Draco. He knows he fucked up. Badly. In the end, he got it. He pretty much agreed that you were right for me."

"That must have killed him," said Draco, tightly, and perhaps a little too hopefully.

"Maybe," she shrugged. "But I think he knew. Deep down, he knew we were never that compatible. He was just holding on out of habit."

"Well, he can find a new fucking habit," Draco said, curtly.

She gave him a kind smile. "He also told me about your parents, you know. How they tried to make things right."

"They are certainly trying," Draco said. "Did he tell you where my father was this whole time?"

She nodded. "I wasn't sure if I should believe it."

"Believe it," Draco said. "My father is just the right amount of crazy to travel to Australia and let your parents wave a rifle in his face."

"Oh my God," she whispered, her hand covering her mouth.

"It's okay," Draco smiled. "He said he wants one now. That man loves a good weapon, even if it's Muggle, apparently."

"Maybe my dad can help him pick one out," Hermione said, with a cheeky grin.

"So weird," he chuckled.

She played with the tile a little more, looking sad again.

"Maybe when I'm out of rehab, I can do something useful with myself. Like do some talks on addiction. For anyone else who might be struggling, you know. I figure if it was a problem for me, and it was a problem for your mother, there are probably more people who could use some help."

"That would be very Gryffindor of you," he teased, reaching out to move a curl out of her eyes. She leaned into his hand, closing her eyes tightly.

"I love you, you know," she said.

"I love you too," he replied.

"Maybe when I'm out of rehab..." she trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Oh, I don't know. It's probably silly of me to try and plan ahead like this... But..."

"What is it?"

"Maybe you'd like to move in with me?"

His heart fluttered in his chest. He tried to choose his words very carefully.

"Is that a pace that would work for you?"

She shrugged, and then smiled. "I'm starting to realize that it's hard to pace a good thing."

Draco smiled back. It felt as if the sun had been turned on inside his chest. He kicked off his boots, climbing into the tub with her. She immediately curled up against him.

"We really have to stop meeting like this," he said, kissing the top of her head.

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a yes."

* * *

_Two months later_

Hermione squeezed Draco's hand and grinned as they walked through the gate at Malfoy Manor. Both sets of parents were waiting for them on the front step.

"Welcome!" called Narcissa. "You're just in time for lunch!"

"She's trying to make it sound casual, but she's been planning this little party for weeks," Draco whispered. "How much do you want to bet Harry, Blaise and Pansy are already inside?"

"You think?" she whispered back, trying not to blush at the gesture. When Narcissa got excited about something, it was very hard to calm her down. It seemed to have rubbed off though... Hermione could see that even her parents were bursting with glee. Lucius was, as usual, the only one who seemed quite calm about her little "end of rehab" party. The look of pride on his face, however, was a dead giveaway.

He was such a softie when he wasn't plotting someone's demise.

"I'd put money on it."

The two months Hermione had spent at the Muggle facility were some of the hardest, but also some of the best, of her life. True to his word, Draco had rented a flat across the street and was in to see her every day. With her little permission slip, they spent the weekends together in his apartment, always intending to go out and be social but usually ending up cocooned inside. They learned a lot during those weekends.

They learned that when Hermione got mad, really, spitting mad, her "inner Malfoy" came out, as Draco called it. They didn't know how else to explain the sudden change in her hair, and then the sudden change back. Hermione joked that she was too stubborn to be a Malfoy all the time. Draco joked that she had broken the trait.

Maybe they were both right.

They also learned that love wasn't an on / off switch. It was more like an ocean. There was always more of it. You could keep going deeper.

And she did.

So did he.

And that alone healed her as much as the therapy, the counsellors, the coaching. That sped up her recovery. That brought her here. She was clean, happy, and stronger than she'd ever felt.

Hermione hugged her parents tightly, never tiring of seeing their faces. The Grangers and the Malfoys had end up getting along quite well despite all the odds... The men bonding over Muggle war weapons (her father had a more historical interest; Lucius wanted to buy a cannon for "practical reasons"), while the women bonded over Queenie (her mother loved animals, and she had become fascinated with Queenie's dental structure, so the arrangement worked well).

Narcissa got two kisses on the cheek, because that's what she liked best. Hermione wanted to hug her too, because the woman had been such an incredible support for her over the last couple of months, but she held back lest she start crying. There was still a whole party to get through, after all, and she was already feeling emotional.

Lucius liked a simple head nod, but Hermione insisted on pecking him on the cheek. It was the only time she had ever seen him blush, which was, of course, the reason she did it.

There was an explosion of chatter as they headed into the house for a celebratory meal. Narcissa caught up with Hermione and gave her a little wink as they neared the garden.

"So do they give you any homework at this rehab place?" she asked, lightheartedly. "Is there anything you're supposed to do now that you're out?"

Narcissa had become fascinated with the rehabilitation facility, peppering Hermione with all sorts of questions whenever she had the chance. The concept that one could overcome addiction _without_ magic had impressed her considerably, and had softened her even more to the world of Muggles. Indeed, the Malfoys had been transforming slowly since Hermione went away, and had made extraordinary gains towards becoming genuinely accepting people. They almost never talked about bringing the dungeons back into use anymore.

"Just one thing, although it's for myself as much as for the program," said Hermione, glad she had a chance to ask Narcissa a question that had been bothering her for some time. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me with it."

"I'd love to, darling! Just name it." Narcissa was in a great mood. She was practically skipping, her perfect locks shimmering in the light.

They veered around a corner and Hermione could see Harry's messy hair, Blaise's head and Pansy's hairband in the distance. Draco was right. As usual.

Blaise and Pansy were sitting very close together.

Harry hadn't brought a date, but Hermione knew for a fact that he had started seeing someone. That pleased her almost as much as the fact that he was in the process of moving back to London. He was keeping the farm for now, in case he needed to get away, but he was transitioning back into society bit by bit. It helped that he had a fairly strong group of friends here. Hermione had heard that even he and Ron were on speaking terms. Although she had no desire to invite Ron back into her life, she was glad Harry could keep that connection open. Ron needed it as much as he did.

"I'd like to make amends with someone in my life, but I've had trouble tracking them down," Hermione said. The fact that she'd been having trouble finding the person in question was grating on her nerves. How hard could it be, really?

"Well, Lucius and I have some special skills at finding missing people," Narcissa said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Who do you want to find?"

"Stacey McLorrow," Hermione said.

The smile stayed frozen on Narcissa's face, but not a muscle was moving as she stared at Hermione. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"Oh, her!" she said eventually. "I do remember hearing something about her. Didn't she move away?"

"Yes!" said Lucius, who was suddenly on Hermione's other side. "Moved far, far away. Isn't that right, Narcissa?"

"Indeed. Now I remember. She went to Morocco."

"Morocco?" said Hermione.

"Morocco," nodded Lucius. "And joined a convent."

"What? A convent?" said Hermione. "That's very odd. Nobody's heard from her for a while, and I did sort of wonder if she was okay..."

"More than okay," said Narcissa. "Convents are quite relaxing, as I understand. Communing with a Muggle deity and all."

"And it's very private," said Lucius. "She can't have visitors."

"Took a vow of silence," nodded Narcissa. "Felt so badly about what she had done, you understand."

"No guests allowed!" Lucius reminded them, cheerfully.

"In Morocco?" Hermione said, confused.

"No, at the convent," said Narcissa. "Sorry darling, but she might be too difficult to track down, even for people as skilled as Lucius and I. We would have to force the girl the break the rules of the convent, and given that we are such upstanding people, we would hate to put her in that position."

"Oh," Hermione said, disappointed. "I understand. I just thought it might be healthy to close that chapter of my life."

"It's the thought that counts, darling," said Narcissa, taking her hand and patting it. "And you have so many thoughts."

"So Draco reminds me," she laughed. "Thank you for the information anyway." Hermione paused. Was it just her, or were the Malfoys acting a bit... Strange? It was so hard to tell with them. Acting strangely came as easily as shaking hands in this family. "You both certainly know a lot about what she's been up to," she said, as a little test. "That's quite impressive."

"Oh, we make it our business to keep an eye on people," said Lucius, dismissively. "Fewer surprises that way. Just routine at this point, I'm afraid."

Hermione nodded. Well, that was certainly a logical explanation.

"Speaking of surprises," said Narcissa, looking coy, and managing to completely change the subject. "Draco tells me you have some news."

Hermione blushed. "I don't know how surprising it is," she said. "But yes, we are getting a flat together."

"Excellent!" Narcissa said. "And I don't suppose you've given any thought to - "

"MOTHER!" said Draco, elbowing his way between Hermione and Narcissa. "You weren't about to pester my beautiful girlfriend about marriage, were you?"

"Not at all," Narcissa said, looking a bit guilty at being caught. She sent a look to Lucius, and they both fell back in the familial procession, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.

"Sorry about that," he said. "She should know better."

"Oh, it's quite alright," Hermione said. "I'm not bothered."

"But still," Draco said, taking her hand. "I promised you wouldn't be hassled about the marriage thing, and I will keep my promise. I won't ask you until you're good and ready."

"Is that right?" she grinned.

"Certainly is," he smirked. "But when you are ready? Watch out."

"Is that a threat?" she said, smirking back.

"Depends how you feel about being chained to me forever," he said with a good-natured wink.

She bit her tongue to keep from giving anything away, but Hermione wasn't really being completely honest about her little surprise. While it was true they were moving in together, that wasn't the thing that was giving her butterflies. You see, rehab taught her an important lesson.

It was easier to feel in control of your life when you - quite literally - took control. Waiting for things to happen to her was never really her style. She could see that now.

So she had decided that after all that, all her pushing back, she really did want to marry Draco. The thing was, she didn't particularly want to wait for him to propose. It seemed horribly predictable, and if she had learned anything, it's that life was more interesting when the unexpected happened.

She was really getting quite good at managing the unexpected. Spent two months perfecting her skills, actually.

Draco smiled at her as they neared the table full of friends and family. She took a moment to marvel at how handsome he looked; how relaxed he was. This was the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with.

Everything about that sentence pleased her.

The ring she had made for him was practically burning a hole in her pocket, but she was determined to leave it there until after the meal. Wait until everyone was good and full. Off their guard.

Then she was going to ask the question that was on repeat inside her head.

Luckily for her, she was pretty confident that he was going to give her the correct answer.

_The End_

* * *

_Well, it's been a crazy fun run. Thanks for all your comments and support, especially over my two family emergencies and my travelling / getting lost in NYC / no internet fiasco. Wild summer, I'm telling you. _

_This end is a bit bittersweet for me... You might remember that I wanted to write a story about addiction because I lost a friend to an overdose. I sure wish he had been able to get the help he needed the way our heroine did. So it goes, I guess. Real life has an unpredictable plot. At least our favourite couple gets a happy ending. _

_Please keep in touch over at the blog (I love hearing from you!), and I'll see you here next time I've got a story to post! I've already got some ideas! (Oh, and thanks for pushing me over the 1000 review mark!) xoxoxo Galfoy _


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